#no SA tho he's . . . waiting

[daughterofzeus-the-novel]

finally getting through this goddamn chapter . . . also I forgot Penelope. oops.

[gu6chan]

most cathartic moment of my life was last night when me and my sister were yapping to each other about our least favourite pieces of media ever and i showed her ONE scene from DOD3 after bitching about it for like a million hours and she was just "okay i see why you think every dod3 fan is a horrible person what the fuck is this"

[fushitoru]

infect me with your love

pairing ⸺ spiderman!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you have always existed in gojo satoru’s shadow. he is a physics prodigy, a person that everyone endlessly admires for his intelligence and charisma, and you hate him for taking the spotlight that you deserve to share with him. but it all changes one day at 5:07AM at your starbucks job when gojo barges in, ordering ridiculously sweet drinks and posing existential questions. is there more to gojo that meets the eye, and is it linked to the vigilante swinging around New York City?

warnings ⸺ college au, academic rivals to lovers, SMUT, tooth rotting fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, basically the holy trinity, reader works at Starbucks (BOYCOTT tho), set in NYC, both reader and gojo are physics majors, mentions of SA, attempt at SA on reader but nothing too graphic, some violence, gojo swings reader across NYC so might trigger fear of heights?. SPIDER-MAN KISS SPIDERMAN KISS, injury and mentions of blood, mentions of gun, inappropriate use of webs LOL, fingering, oral, p in v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied

playlist ⸺ quantum rizzics

a/n thank you for @avaults my POOKIE for beta reading this. this has been a journey and my first longfic and i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did writing it it's my baby:')

if u don’t wanna read the smut just skip the part after they make up, it’s not necessary to the story and is the ending scene. but just to be clear, minors dni.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

fun fact: starbucks opens at 5am.

of course, that depends on your local hours and where you live, but in the campus starbucks you worked at, your manager fortunately didn’t really care if you showed up to your opening shift a bit late. after all, no professor or undergrad is waking up at the ass crack of dawn to get a fuckin coffee; if they really needed a pick me up, they’d go to get the free alcohol at one of the frats that was still partying. 

matter of fact, your manager didn’t really give a fuck what you did as long as you didn’t get the shop blown up or the matcha spilled (it was expensive). this meant you could leisurely wake up at 4:45am and set up the display muffins and cake pops when you arrived in the shop at 5:20am. really, the manager ought to reduce the hours because all you do is finish your readings for your gen ed history classes on the canvas app on your phone. so, really you get paid for doing your homework on your shifts—not that you’re complaining or anything.

that is, until gojo satoru.

first, let’s get the record straight about who gojo is. gojo is a physics second-year—same as you–who is the bane of your existence. up until a few months ago, you never saw gojo satoru outside of classes (where he was dozing off) unless you happened to show up at a frat party, which was only a few occurrences when you got peer pressured by your friends. clearly, he was a “work hard, party hard” type person because he frequents the frats more than the library while having the grades to make up for it because he’s a prodigy. he’s charismatic and smart as fuck; right out of middle school he was studying manifolds and abstract algebra while the rest of the high school freshmen were learning the quadratic equation and the concept of variables. he probably learned what gravity was at age of two and was doing research in quantum field theory by the time he got into college. 

take the last time you saw him outside of class, at office hours with professor yaga.

the air in professor yaga’s office is thick with the scent of old textbooks, the hum of the overhead lights adding to the familiar quiet. you’ve been waiting all week for this chance, and you’re armed with a question that’s supposed to signal i’ve done my homework. you lean forward, trying to project confidence as you ask, “i read in your last paper that you’re working on optimizing error correction in quantum computing systems. is there a reason you prioritized stabilizer codes over surface codes?”

professor yaga’s brow lifts, impressed, and you can feel the warmth of his approval starting to settle around you. “ah,” he says, sounding pleasantly surprised, “you’ve actually read it. that’s... a complicated question.” he leans back, launching into an explanation, and for a second, you think this might actually be it—the moment he notices you for your dedication, your depth of knowledge.

but then, the door creaks open behind you.

you tense, a sinking feeling pooling in your stomach even before you turn around. of course, it’s gojo satoru, strolling in like he owns the place. his bag is slung over one shoulder, and he’s flashing that easy grin that never seems to falter. he spares you the briefest glance before zeroing in on professor yaga.

professor yaga’s face shifts instantly, a mixture of annoyance and resignation flashing in his eyes as he sighs, “gojo. nice of you to join us.”

“hey, i was just passing by,” gojo says casually, though he’s clearly anything but. he doesn’t pass by anywhere without making an entrance. “thought i’d check in on how everyone’s doing.”

the glint in yaga’s eyes sharpens, and he fixes gojo with a look. “when’s that last problem set coming in, satoru? i’ve had enough late assignments from you for one semester.”

at this, another professor at a nearby desk chuckles, casting an amused glance at gojo. “don’t push him too hard, yaga,” he says as if gojo’s delinquency is something charming, a shared inside joke. “kid’s already got the department’s highest scores without trying.”

oh, for god’s fucking sake. you force yourself not to roll your eyes, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag as you sink back in your chair. of course, all it takes is for him to show up and somehow you’re rendered invisible. just minutes ago, professor yaga was engaging with you, treating you as if you might actually belong in this room with your carefully constructed question. now, he’s utterly distracted, entirely absorbed by whatever pseudo-flattering insults he’s throwing at gojo. and, for the record, that stupid, balding professor is wrong. you have the same fucking scores as gojo, so you’re equals.

you’re not even sure gojo realizes he’s doing it—that he has this magnetic, obnoxious effect on everyone in a room. but that’s exactly what grates on you the most. he pulls all eyes to him, like he’s some cosmic force everyone’s compelled to admire. and you? you’re just… there. not that it’s any different than the usual experiences you’ve had as a woman in stem, always feeling like you have to prove yourself five times over. but somehow, gojo makes it worse.

and he does it all effortlessly, like physics is some sort of playground where he can breeze through research and exams, sprinkling charisma wherever he goes. he’s probably off writing his own theories on manifolds while everyone else is struggling to keep up with quantum mechanics. meanwhile, here you are, clawing for every shred of recognition, only to watch it fizzle as soon as he steps into the room.

he flashes a grin at professor yaga. “i’ll get it in,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “i’m just, you know, prioritizing. some of us have… extracurriculars.” he doesn’t wink, but he might as well.

you resist the urge to scoff, sinking deeper into your seat as the frustration bubbles up, sharp and hot. it’s not like you’re jealous. you’d rather endure anything than admit that. but watching gojo waltz in and immediately siphon off any attention you’d managed to earn feels like a slap. if he could just stop showing up, or better yet, stop pretending to be so casually brilliant, maybe—just maybe—you’d have a chance at something other than this routine invisibility.

you let out a huff, pretending to check the time, imagining you had somewhere better to be. you have brilliant, observant blue eyes following you out the door, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself together until you reach your dorm, where you ugly cry it out.

which, of course, brings you to mornings like this one, where you actually do have to be somewhere. namely, behind the counter at the campus starbucks, opening up shop while most of the world is still asleep. you catch sight of the green mermaid logo ahead, just visible through the dim haze of a 5:07 a.m. chill.

and right beneath it, there’s a familiar head of silver hair.

your eyes have to double take on the man who seems to be looking a bit slouched, tired and leaning against the light pole while tapping his foot. the muscular yet tall stature and white hair are unmistakable; it’s the same ones you’ve dreamed about throttling. but you’re so confused as to why he’s there that you just decide to wordlessly walk towards the store and open up, ignoring his presence until his voice cuts through the morning silence.

“doesn’t this store open up at 5?” his voice sounds tired and groggy, you notice. 

“uh, yea,” you answer tentatively, shrugging. “but, um, no one comes until 7 so i show up late.”

his eyes narrow and somewhat playfully (well, as playful as he can sound at the ass crack of dawn anyways), he asks, “don’t you know time is of the essence? seems pretty irresponsible to me that you’re not showing up on time.”

you just stare at him for a bit because, after all, this is the guy you’ve been having the murderous equivalent of wet dreams about for the past year talking to you in a friendly, joking, familiar way. needless to say, you’re at a loss of words in your slightly flustered state, so all that comes out is a short “sorry” before you’re walking in, getting ready to put on your apron and setting the oven on to heat up the croissants. 

gojo follows in after you, choosing to sit at the table closest to the counter. he sets the backpack he had on his back down, rummaging through and whipping out his laptop and plugging it in. it’s a heavy old thing, and gojo’s biceps strain as he pulls it out and you almost snort when looking at it in its entirety. a gaming laptop.

 but you don’t do that, because laughing at someone who’s a stranger to you would be mean, no matter how much you hate him, so you resort to setting up the counter and getting some powders out. bending over, you get the newly shipped box of cake pops, deigning to put them out on display until you’re interrupted with a cough.

you turn, looking inquisitively at gojo until he points down to the counter, indicating that he wants to order. you mumble, “just a second!” before you continue hauling the box to put it on the top counter where you can easily unpack it and brush your hands, walking up to gojo and getting the system ready to take his order. 

and your fingers are poised on the buttons until you realize that no order is coming out of his mouth. you blink, and he blinks, keeping a stoic face that nevertheless poorly conceals an amused expression.

“…what can i get you?” 

at that, he pouts. “no good morning? no chirpy hello?”

you just stare at him for a good second. what the fuck?

“what?” gojo frowns. “shouldn’t you do that to every customer?” you realize belatedly you’ve said it out loud in your shock, but shake it off nonetheless. 

the silence lingers after gojo’s teasing comment, making you acutely aware of the odd situation: you’re standing there in your work apron, face-to-face with the man you’ve imagined taking down in your head a thousand times, and yet here he is, tired but playfully trying to chat you up. you should hate this—he’s getting under your skin, but for some reason, you just feel unsettled, disturbed that he’s so human.

you don’t trust your voice to not crack while making eye contact with him, so, instead, you focus on your screen. you settle on a simple, flat, “morning,” without a hint of cheerfulness, staring down at the register like it’s your lifeline.

gojo’s eyebrow quirks at your half-hearted greeting, but he says nothing, opting instead to study you with an amused glint. you can feel his gaze, like a weight on your skin, and it almost makes you shiver. he leans forward a little, propping his elbows on the counter, his posture loose but expectant. his playful energy is barely masking something beneath it, something harder.

gojo's grin is wide, almost boyish, and it makes your stomach churn more than it should.

“see? was that so hard?” he says, leaning forward on his elbows like he’s settling in for a chat. his tone is too friendly for someone who’s never exchanged more than a glance with you in class—someone you’ve been actively avoiding whenever possible.

you scowl, moving to the register to finally punch in his order. “what would you like?”

“hmm...” he taps his chin, dragging out the silence. he’s enjoying this, that much is obvious. “surprise me.”

you blink, fingers still poised over the buttons. “surprise you?”

“yeah,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “you work here. you know what’s good.”

you want to throttle him. really, truly throttle him. there’s no way this is real—no way the gojo satoru is sitting in front of you at 5:07 in the morning, asking you to surprise him with a starbucks order like he’s some quirky regular.

and yet, here you are.

“fine,” you mutter, punching in the order for the sweetest, most ridiculous concoction you can think of. caramel drizzle, extra whipped cream, a pump of every syrup in the back room—you’re not going easy on him. “that’ll be eight dollars.”

he doesn’t blink at the ridiculous price. of course, he doesn’t.

pulling out his phone, he taps it against the card reader and flashes you another grin. “thanks, i’m sure it’ll be great.”

you barely resist the urge to roll your eyes. “uh-huh.”

as you move to make the drink, the silence between you stretches uncomfortably. you’ve spent so much time thinking about gojo, despising him, that now that he’s here, right in front of you, you don’t know how to act. and the worst part? he seems perfectly at ease, completely unfazed by the fact that you’ve spent the better part of a year dreaming of his downfall. he’s back to looking at his stupid heavy ahh gaming laptop, and as you move over to put in copious amounts of caramel pumps, you notice that he’s on cool math games playing fireboy and watergirl and almost snort out loud. he’s locked in on his game, his legs moving up and down anxiously, reminiscent of an ipad kid.

after a few minutes of assembling his monstrosity of a drink, you slide it across the counter. “here,” you say, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice.

gojo raises an eyebrow at the drink, the sheer volume of whipped cream threatening to spill over the lid. “wow,” he says, sounding genuinely impressed. “you really went all out.”

“you said to surprise you.”

“i did,” he admits, grabbing the cup and taking a slow, deliberate sip. his eyes widen slightly at the overly sweet taste, and for a brief moment, you think you’ve won.

but then he smiles again, that same irritatingly carefree smile, and you know you haven’t. 

“so,” gojo begins, leaning back in his chair like he’s settling in for a long conversation. “what’s a genius like you doing working the early shift at starbucks?”

your hands freeze mid-clean, and you glance at him sharply. genius?

you can’t tell if he’s being sincere or mocking you—probably the latter, considering who he is—but the word still lingers in the air between you, unsettling.

you scoff, trying to brush it off. “gotta pay the bills somehow,” you mutter, going back to wiping down the counter. but gojo’s gaze is heavy on you, and you can tell he’s not letting it go.

you glance up at him. “look, i like having time to think in the mornings. it’s quiet. besides, no one’s lining up for coffee before 7, so it’s not like i’m missing anything.”

gojo chuckles softly, but there’s something off about it. “thinking time, huh?” he repeats your words, but there’s a strange edge to them, like he’s mulling them over. in fact, you think you just realize that he’s been acting oddly this entire morning, restlessness evident in his figure. he taps his fingers on the table, his eyes flickering to the window, watching the gray morning light spill into the shop.

“doesn’t it ever feel like…” he trails off, brow furrowing slightly. “i don’t know… like you should be doing something else? like… something more?”

his question hangs in the air, heavy and unspoken, but you get the feeling he’s not talking about you. there’s something in his voice, something that sounds like he’s grappling with his own thoughts, with his own place in the world.

for a moment, you’re tempted to brush him off. to tell him he’s overthinking things, that he’s gojo satoru and he already has everything laid out for him. but something stops you. maybe it’s the way he looks—his usual confidence slightly cracked at the edges, his playful tone masking something else. something deeper.

you shrug, turning back to the counter. “i mean… it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

there’s a pause, and you can feel the weight of your words sinking in. gojo goes quiet, really quiet, and when you glance back at him, his usual smirk is gone. he’s just… staring at you, eyes narrowed slightly like he’s trying to figure you out.

“just… showing up, huh?” he repeats softly, almost like he’s testing the words. his fingers stop tapping, and he leans back in his chair, his gaze unfocused, like he’s somewhere else entirely. somewhere in his own head.

you don’t say anything else. you’ve said your piece, and somehow, you know it hit deeper than either of you expected. there’s a strange silence between you now, not uncomfortable, but heavy with understanding.

gojo stands up after a long pause, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. he looks at you, his usual grin slipping back into place, but it’s softer now. less cocky. more real.

“maybe you’re right,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing in his voice. “sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

and with that, he gives you a small nod, turning and heading out into the cold morning. the door swings shut behind him, and for a second, you just stand there, staring after him.

something’s shifted. you don’t know what it is, but it feels like the start of something. something bigger than just a rivalry.

you shake your head, turning back to the counter. it’s too early for this shit.

…

“you know, i didn’t get your name.”

gojo’s voice cuts through the low hum of the espresso machine as he leans against the counter, that same insufferable grin plastered across his face. he’s here again, of course, only this time it’s during your closing shift. the place is quiet, almost deserted except for the occasional customer who swings by for a quick coffee before heading back out into the cold.

you look up from the equipment you were cleaning, already annoyed. “i’m pretty sure we’ve shared at least one class every semester.”

you weren’t trying to hide the pettiness. gojo, for all his academic genius, clearly couldn’t be bothered to remember you—a recurring face in his orbit. it’s not like you were expecting him to remember you, especially among the sea of faces in lecture halls, but something about the way he strolled in, acting like this was just some cute, quirky meet-cute, got under your skin.

gojo quirks an eyebrow in confusion, his gaze drifting up toward the ceiling as if searching the recesses of his mind for your name—only to come up empty. “are you a grad student?”

you flash him an exasperated look. “just for that, i’m not telling you.”

grabbing a towel to wipe your hands, you step out from behind the barista counter, heading towards the trash can just behind him to restock the straws. as you make your way to the supply room, you can feel his eyes following your every move. to your surprise, gojo starts walking toward you, his presence looming as you dump the straws into the container.

it isn’t until you turn around that you realize he’s standing right next to you, bent comically at the waist and squinting at something on your chest. heat creeps up your neck and into your cheeks as you realize his proximity and move to take a step back. 

he wasn’t ogling you (thank god), but instead, squinting at the nametag pinned to your apron.

"ah," he says, straightening up with a triumphant grin. “there it is. y/n, huh?” the way his mouth rolls over your name slowly makes you feel a bit weird, because after all, this is the guy you’ve shit talked about in your diary finally acknowledging you existed, but before you can reflect on the feeling, you bristle again in annoyance. 

“really? you had to get that close just to read my name?”

gojo doesn’t seem fazed by your annoyance, in fact, it only seems to amuse him further. “hey, i was just trying to be thorough. gotta make sure i get it right, you know?” his grin widens, and you swear he’s enjoying this way too much.

“thorough. sure.” you turn away, trying to busy yourself with the straws again, but the heat still lingers on your face. his proximity had been… unexpected. and a little too close for comfort.

when you’re done with the straws, you steel the courage to turn your body so you’re facing him, making an indication with your hands for him to move out of your way. instead of him giving you space to leave the cramped corner, he leans against the counter now like he practically owns the place. in doing so, he effectively pins you against the corner of the coffee shop, leaving you no option but to fiddle with the straws while pointedly avoiding his gaze, but not before you see the pout on his face. “you’re not going to ask me for my name?”

“i know it. it’s gojo.” you immediately curse yourself for letting your lips loose.

fuck. he squints his eyes in what you perceive as suspicion. “how do you know my name?”

“i saw it on your credit card information.” you couldn’t exactly tell him how you’ve stalked him (as well as how inefficient you found a function in his 6th grade robotics code), so that would be a plausible enough reason. 

but gojo, of course, doesn’t let up. “so, y/n,” he starts. “you going to the party next week? you know, for halloweekend?”

ah, halloweekend. the ultimate weekend for getting excuses to dress slutilly, excessively drink, and get laid. at your college, it was an even bigger deal, with people partying for all three days of the week’s end as well as the weekend before and after halloween. you shook your head. “i don’t think so.” that phys 321 assignment was not going to finish itself, nor were parties really your scene.

“what?” he immediately crosses his arms across his chest, frowning and leaning closer to you to squint at you. “why?”

you sigh inwardly, awkward at the prospect of him bugging you further about your life. “i’m bu—”

you’re interrupted by the sound of the door opening and instinctively move to get behind the counter to take the new customer’s order; at first, you thank the heavens that you got a distraction from gojo, that you’re not alone anymore, but seeing who the customer was, the hope extinguishes like a candle face with wind.

you both see a man swagger in, the same guy you’ve noticed hanging around far too often lately. his eyes immediately lock onto you, and a slow, sleazy grin spreads across his face.

“hey, look who’s still here,” the man says, sauntering over to the counter like he owns the place. “my favorite barista.”

you tense, forcing a smile. “what can i get you?”

he doesn’t answer right away, his gaze sliding down your body in a way that makes your skin crawl. “i was thinking…” he drawls, leaning in closer than necessary, “you and i should hang out. you’re always here, and i’m always here, so it’s like fate or something, right?”

your stomach churns, and you take a small step back, maintaining your composure. “i’m good, thanks.”

but he doesn’t let up, leaning further across the counter. “come on, don’t be like that. just one drink. you deserve it after a long day.”

“i really can’t—”

“don’t be shy,” he interrupts, a grin spreading wider. “i’m a nice guy, i promise.”

before you can think of another polite rejection, gojo steps forward, his body language shifting entirely. the playful air around him evaporates, replaced by something colder, more dangerous. he positions himself squarely between you and the guy, effectively cutting off the man’s view of you.

“she said no,” gojo says, his voice firm, low. “so why don’t you fuck off?”

the sleazy guy blinks, clearly not expecting the sudden shift. his smile fades, and he glares at gojo, sizing him up like he’s considering pushing back. but one glance at gojo’s unwavering stare, and the guy decides it’s not worth it. with a muttered curse, he turns and leaves, the door swinging shut behind him.

you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. the guy’s been bothering you routinely; part of you thinks that he’s still not going to leave you alone, but the rest of you visibly relaxes, the weight of this guy’s harassment lifting off your shoulders under gojo’s protection.

gojo turns back to you, the usual teasing smirk creeping back onto his face, though his eyes are still sharp. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you manage, though your voice is quieter than you’d like. “thanks for that.”

“don’t mention it.” he shrugs it off like it was nothing, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you now—something protective. “i know you’re perfectly capable of handling yourself, but i figured i’d speed things up a bit.”

you roll your eyes, trying to shake off the tension. “you’re such a hero, gojo.”

“always,” he replies with a wink. and just like that, the moment’s lightened again, the balance between you restored, though there’s a subtle shift in the air. something unspoken between the two of you—an understanding, maybe.

you don’t acknowledge it out loud, but as you go back to restocking, you find yourself glancing at him more than before. and for the first time in… well, ever, you don’t completely mind his presence.

…

fast forward a few hours, and after a bit of conversation, gojo finally leaves the fine institution that is your campus starbucks. right now, you’re alone and finishing cleaning up. you lock up, the starbucks finally closed, finishing your last task for the night. it’s quiet—too quiet, actually, with the usual streetlights casting strange shadows across the empty sidewalk. the air feels heavy, like something unseen is lingering just out of reach, watching from the dark. you shake it off, telling yourself you’re just tired and letting your nerves get to you.

as you start your walk back to your dorm, the feeling only grows. the street’s nearly empty, and with each step, the silence presses in closer. it’s fine, you tell yourself, picking up your pace. but then you hear it: the echo of footsteps, faint but unmistakable. heart pounding, you speed up, every instinct telling you to just get back. almost there. you just have to cross the alley—

“hey there,” a voice drawls, and your stomach sinks. a hand moves to grab at your shoulder, making you turn quickly. what meets your vision is the same guy from earlier, his grin widening in a way that makes your skin crawl.

you try to move out of his grip, but he grabs you harder, cutting off any escape. “aw, don’t be like that. i just wanted some company.”

your throat’s dry, but you manage, “i said no.”

he doesn’t even pretend to listen, his gaze trailing over you with that same leering interest. “no need to be so uptight. i could make this fun for you.”

your back hits the wall of the alley. trapped. he leans in, his breath warm and sour against your face, one hand reaching out as he says something sleazy that you can barely hear over the pounding in your ears—

and then a voice cuts in from above, all easy humor. “y’know, i always thought this city’s trash problem was bad, but this is something else.”

your heart leaps in your chest at the small flicker of hope, that someone has the balls to try to rescue you. but as you—and this creep—turn, you find no evidence of another party present, only his mysterious presence. 

“who’s there?” the guy snarls, his grip tightening so much that you wince. “why don’t you get lost if you know what’s good for you—”

“dude, don’t you have any rizz?” the mysterious boy retorts.the stranger has a youthful voice, someone of your age.  “the way you have to resort to sexual harassment is just sad. you guys are always sooo predictable, you’re so gonna tell me to scram or something.”

the man scowls, hand leaving your arm in an effort to search for the stranger in the dark. “why don’t you mind your own business, punk—”

and he’s interrupted, because a shiny, silver something flings out in the darkness and lands on his face, sending his arms in a frenzy to uncover what it is. the man rips the sticky, silver webbing off his face with a growl, looking around wildly, his expression shifting from confusion to anger. his eyes dart through the dark alley, searching for the source of that cocky voice, but there’s nothing—just shadows and the faint flicker of a streetlamp somewhere down the block.

“who the hell are you?” he snaps, twisting his neck as if he could scare whoever’s hiding out there into the open. “show yourself, you bastard!”

a chuckle echoes from the darkness, bouncing off the brick walls. “wow, real tough guy, huh? but you should work on those anger issues. they’re, uh…a bit unbecoming.”

the man spins around, and another burst of webbing flies out from somewhere unseen, sticking to his shoulder this time. he yanks it off with a frustrated grunt, his head whipping from side to side as he tries to locate the stranger.

“you think this is funny?” he spits, voice raised in a mix of fear and fury.

“depends. do you?” the voice is closer now, almost like the stranger is right above you, yet no one’s there. “or is this just a big overreaction? all i did was suggest you rethink your approach. go to therapy or sum’.”

the man snarls, fists clenched, starting to look downright unhinged. “get down here and say that to my face, punk!”

“as you wish.”

with a soft thump, a figure drops from above, landing directly in front of the guy in a low crouch. in the dim light, all you see at first are the blue and black accents on the otherwise white suit, his head tilting up, illuminated just enough that his white, wide eyes glow with a certain playful menace. and then, your eyes widen as you gasp to yourself. 

you’ve seen him before.

okay, pause.

you’re a busy college student, one who stays entrenched in the bubble of upcoming exams, assignments, and problem sets that you don’t check the news often. in the off chance you do turn from your usual consumption of social media during your breaks to the news, you only have time to read the big headlines.

so you did read somewhere that in your university’s city of new york city, there was a masked menan—vigilante that had beat up a few guys near a shawarma joint or prevented some shootings at a nightclub. new york city was full of incompetent cops that were on the lookout for him (a/n acabbbbbb) since this guy was a vigilante, some kind of superhero slinging around on webs. some name—spiderman.

but before you could read more into the article, your soul almost left your body when you got a canvas notification saying your midterm was graded, so that was the end of that.

alright, pause over. back to now.

“hi!” spiderman chirps, giving him a friendly wave before ducking just as the man throws a punch. the swing goes wide, and spiderman straightens up with a disappointed sigh. “see, this is why i’m the one with the web powers. you’d hurt yourself with these moves.”

without warning, the man charges again, swinging in rapid succession, but each one misses as spiderman easily sidesteps, practically dancing around him. “oof, dude, how did you make it this far in life with reflexes like that?” he ducks another blow, slipping behind the guy to give him a light tap on the shoulder as he passes.

the man stumbles, eyes flashing with frustration, and lets out a roar, reaching down to pick up a loose brick from the alley floor. he raises it above his head, face twisted in a snarl.

“oh, so we’re improvising now?” spiderman quips, and before the man can bring the brick down, a strand of webbing shoots out, sticking to the brick and yanking it from his grasp. it flies off somewhere into the alley, landing with a dull clatter.

the guy stumbles forward, off balance, and spiderman takes the opportunity to web his feet to the ground, immobilizing him in place. the man struggles, pulling his legs, but he’s stuck fast.

“ever heard of boundaries?” spiderman asks, tilting his head with mock innocence. “or, like, self-restraint? you should look into it.”

the man glares, seething, still struggling against the webs. “you think you’re some kinda hero?” he sneers.

spiderman shrugs, glancing over at you, catching your gaze in a way that makes you feel both strangely comforted and seen. “nah, hero’s a big word. i’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with slightly above-average reflexes.”

with a frustrated yell, the man finally wrenches one arm free and makes a desperate lunge, his fist connecting with spiderman’s side. spiderman lets out a small grunt but only wobbles slightly before grinning. “okay, buddy, playtime’s over.”

before the man can even react, spiderman sends out another web, this time at his wrist, effectively pinning him to the alley wall. he struggles, face twisted in anger, but spiderman just raises a gloved hand to his lips as if hushing a child. then, in the lull that follows, you remember the thick quantum mechanics textbook in your bag. without thinking, you yank it out and, in a burst of adrenaline, swing it at the man’s head. the book lands with a solid thud, and he slumps, finally, into silence.

spiderman looks at the unconscious man, then at the textbook in your hand. he lets out a low whistle. “you know, i’ve always thought textbooks were a weapon of choice, but that’s next-level dedication.” that’s when you realize just how tall he is compared to you, and you can’t help your excitement when you realize that he’s here in the flesh.

“nice hit, by the wa—”

“it’s you!” you exclaim. 

“what?” he sputters, white eyes widening almost comically. “me? oh,” then he straightens up, “yea, yea. just your friendly neighborhood spiderman. rescuing pretty girls from creeps, kinda my thing. ” he shrugs.

you continue, excitedly, “right, you’re the one on the news—” you move your hand to point at him but quickly wince, the pain of the man’s grip catching up to you. 

he doesn’t miss the movement, eyes squinting at you. “hey, we’ll have to get you home. do you trust me?”

you look at him, clutching your arm in pain, and really take a moment to check him out. he’s saved you, he’s probably six feet tall, and his ass looks fantastic in his suit. at this point, you’re looking at him with heart eyes. but you can’t exactly tell him you want him to propose, so all you utter out is a “y-yeah. my dorm’s randall.”

he doesn't waste any time. with a quick nod, he hooks an arm around your waist, pulling you close as he aims a webline up toward the buildings. “hold on tight, randall’s just a swing away,” he murmurs, his voice light but steady. his hand settles on your hip, and you can't stop the way your stomach flips at the contact.

before you can even process what’s happening, he launches the two of you into the air, the city blurring beneath your feet as you cling to him, fingers gripping the fabric of his suit for dear life. his arm stays solid around you, his grip somehow both gentle and strong. he lands lightly on the roof of your dorm, setting you down carefully like you’re something fragile. and he steps back, dusting his hands off in the most nonchalant way possible, like he didn’t just take you on the most exhilarating ride of your life.

“this is your stop,” he says, that signature, almost cocky smile playing in his voice.

“uh… yeah. thanks. for the rescue,” you manage, your voice a little shakier than you’d like. you don’t know if “thank you” is enough—it doesn’t even come close to covering what you feel.

but he just shrugs, taking a step back. “all in a day’s work,” he says. “or night’s work, i guess.” he pauses, giving you a quick once-over. “get some sleep, yeah?”

and just like that, he gives you a small, almost playful salute and vanishes, swinging off into the night as easily as he’d appeared, leaving you standing on the rooftop with your heart still racing.

back in your dorm room, you drop onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling as tonight’s events replay in your head: the alley, his voice cutting through the dark, that cocky smirk, the way he felt holding onto you as you soared over the city lights. a tiny part of you wonders if you imagined the whole thing—if maybe you’re just the victim of some wild, sleep-deprived hallucination.

but no, your arm still aches from where the creep grabbed you, and you can still feel the ghost of his hand on your waist, steady and reassuring. you bite your lip, a smile creeping onto your face despite yourself.

just before sleep finally claims you, you let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head at the absurdity of it all. “the city’s vigilante, huh?” you murmur, as if he’s somehow still listening.

the thought is wild, a bit surreal—and strangely comforting.

…

“one caffe americano!” you call out, reading the label on the cup before handing it over with a small nod. the customer takes it with a quick thanks, and you return to the counter, barely holding back a yawn. the events of last night flicker through your mind—a web-slinging hero, an alley, the lingering ache in your arm—and you shake it off. there’s no room for distractions. life as a college student means the grind never stops, especially on a morning shift right before class.

when your coworker finally arrives, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, grab your bag, and step out into the brisk morning air. the chill helps wake you up as you make your way across campus, hoping to catch up with your friends before the lecture starts. just outside the building, you spot utahime, sitting on a bench, waiting with her usual tired smile.

“hey, finally off the clock?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, barely,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “i’m still running on fumes from last night. you guys save me a seat?”

“of course. nanami’s already inside,” she says, gesturing toward the building.

you sigh. “you won’t believe the things that happened last night.”

she gives you a look, in the traditional utahime protective-mother-hen type way. “what happened?”

you give her the rundown of what happened, the guy (who she bristles at, gives you a slap at your hand to tell you that you should’ve told her earlier, kento would’ve been able to beat his ass if she hadn’t gotten to it first) and how spiderman saved you. “i would give him what he’s missing,” you sigh, dreamily. 

utahime looks at you in a judgmental way. “and that’s all you got from this? for fucks sake, he’s a vigilante, you don’t know if he’s started to tail you or not. pooks, he could literally be dangerous. try to convince your boss to let someone else get your night shift.” as soon as you open your mouth to protest, she cuts you off immediately. “and no, i don’t give a fuck about your people pleaser tendenci—”

“we’ll revisit this conversation later.” you give her a sweet smile as you start to speed walk, door of the lecture hall of the 9am section of phys401: intro to quantum algorithms, falling in with the usual stream of students after you hear an irritated “yea, cause i’m gonna kill you otherwise.” the familiar chatter and echo of footsteps make the day feel almost normal, grounding you as you weave through the hall.

inside, you quickly spot kento’s shining, disney prince-like blonde hair, who has saved seats for the three of you near the middle of the hall, away from the ugly, smelly grad students who always crowd the front. he gives you a quick nod as you settle down beside him, flipping open your notebook. the reliable calm on his face helps ease the lingering jitters you hadn’t realized you were carrying.

“long night?” he asks, glancing at the dark circles under your eyes.

“you could say that,” you mumble, not quite ready to get into details. instead, you wave it off. “just work assignments, and getting jumped, the usual.”

nanami breaks into a series of shocked coughs, and you hurry to pat his back as he undeniably burns his tongue on the coffee he was taking a sip of. “what?”

his rather loud exclamation sets off stares from people sitting closer to you both, so you give utahime, who lets out a quiet groan as she’s settling into her seat beside you, a knowing look. “it’s a long story, i’ll tell it to you later.”

he reluctantly settles in after that, not because he has a choice but because yaga is starting to address the class by asking about the weekend and getting his usual blank stares in return until a voice you recognize as suguru geto’s is saying something to undeniably piss him off, but you don’t register quite what it is exactly because the door opens and any attention on geto is directed to the boy with white hair and blue eyes tiredly walking into class. 

he’s about ten minutes late to the lecture, which is already weird because he’s usually about 27 seconds late, not that you keep count. but also, normally gojo is the picture of confidence and cockyness, making some of the female grad students whisper things about him that you don’t think they should be for the five year gap between them and gojo. 

but today, he looks different—messy, unkempt, with shadows under his eyes and a weird angle to his torso, the way he walks, and the way his opposite hand is subconsciously hovering around his side.

your brows knit together as he heads to an empty seat rows behind you next to geto, ignoring the stares of half the room. it’s so out of character for him that you can’t help but wonder what’s going on. you shoot utahime a knowing look, and she stifles a laugh, barely managing to keep a straight face as she watches gojo slink to his seat. nanami’s usually impassive face exchanges a look with you as well before he turns his attention back to professor yaga’s opening remarks. gojo slides into the row behind you without a word, avoiding everyone’s gaze—or so you think, until you feel it.

as you attempt to listen to professor yaga, you can’t shake the sensation of eyes boring into the back of your head. you resist the urge to turn, telling yourself it’s probably nothing… except the feeling lingers, so strong that your pulse ticks up a notch.

“okay, now that we’re all here,” yaga says in a dry tone, barely able to hide his irritation as he glances pointedly in gojo’s direction, “let’s begin with today’s lecture on grover’s.”

professor yaga taps the board, and the projector switches to a set of slides titled quantum speed-up and the grover search algorithm. he launches into his explanation, voice clipped. “grover’s algorithm provides a quadratic speed-up for unstructured search problems, a notable advantage in quantum computing. but can anyone tell me why this isn’t considered an exponential improvement?”

you raise your hand, as does nanami. a subtle shift of movement in your peripheral vision draws your eye to gojo, who’s leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. yaga’s attention lands on nanami first, and he gives a succinct answer about how grover’s algorithm yields only a quadratic speed-up in terms of computational complexity. as he answers, you swear you catch gojo watching you, again, through the corner of your eye.

determined not to let him get under your skin, you lean over to whisper to nanami. “what’s with him today?”

nanami, still watching yaga, raises a brow. “maybe he finally realized that he can’t get by without skipping class today.”

utahime snickers quietly. “doubtful. more like he thinks it’s funny to waltz in whenever he likes and still ace every test.”

“exactly.” you sigh, drumming your pen against your notebook. gojo’s rare absences don’t even seem to faze most professors. and despite his unpredictable attendance, he’s always managed to stay miles ahead. today, though, something’s… different about him. like he’s made a life changing decision in the past 48 hours.

“moving on,” yaga says, pointing to the board where the next slide materializes. “the heart of grover’s algorithm lies in its use of an amplitude amplification technique, where we iterate a search oracle along with an inversion process. pay attention—this concept of iterative improvement will become key when we start covering variational quantum algorithms.”

as yaga delves deeper into amplitude amplification, you manage to focus, jotting down notes on the necessary steps in grover’s search. yet each time you settle into the lecture, you feel gojo’s gaze pricking at you. the first time you turn around, there’s nothing there—just him slouched, seemingly absorbed in whatever he’s staring at on the ceiling. but then, you sense it again and, on your second glance, you catch his blue eyes meeting yours, and he quickly looks away.

what’s his problem? you give him a questioning look, but he’s adamantly not looking at you, trying to look nonchalant as he’s pulling out his laptop. he might look like a student taking latexing notes of what yaga’s yapping about, but the way he’s using his mouse more than he is his keyboard tells you that he’s probably on papa’s freezeria instead.

you decide that you’re going to waste your time wondering how gojo’s brain functioned, so you instead focus back on the lecture. after all, you didn’t understand any of the lecture notes you took notes on before and what it said about the diffuser in the circuit. 

“now,” yaga’s voice sharpens, pulling you back into the room, “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of being late.” his eyes slide back to gojo, who remains oblivious, leaning back with a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as the sound of his name brings him back to the lecture.

gojo doesn’t even look phased. instead, he raises a hand casually, like he’s about to ask a simple question. you can feel the anticipation ripple through the room—half the students are waiting to see if he’ll fumble, and the other half already know better.

“professor yaga,” he drawls, “don’t you think amplitude amplification is a bit of an oversimplification? the way it’s typically presented, you’d think grover’s algorithm was just… guessing with style.” he flashes an infuriatingly smug smile, drawing out the pause before continuing. “but we both know it’s more about quantum phase inversion, right? the oracle reflects about the mean state, iterating with a precision that isn’t just luck. or maybe that’s all too technical?” he leans back, feigning innocence.

the smugness in his tone makes something flare up in you, and before you can stop yourself, your hand shoots up.

“actually, gojo,” you interject, your voice louder than you intended, “calling it “guessing with style” is a very gross oversimplification. grover’s algorithm isn’t about intuition or luck. it’s about optimization. it’s not just about spotlighting a target like a rando guess, it’s more like rotating the probability in a controlled manner—with iterations—to amplify the correct solution. not just some quantum trick or guess.” you cross your arms, leaning back in your chair as you stare him down. “it’s not even that bad, compared to what we have classically.”

as soon as you spoke, it seems that the fight and mischievous look in gojo’s eyes fades, replacing it with something that shockingly looks like him being flustered as he averts your gaze, looks to the ceiling, and murmurs something like “yea, that’s basically most of quantum computing, desperately trying to prove we’re not just wasting our time” but yaga interrupts him, clearly a bit annoyed at the two know-it-alls that you and gojo were acting like. 

“now,” yaga says, shifting back to the lecture as if nothing happened (probably because he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit), “these iterations act as amplitude amplification steps, so pay close attention—especially those of you who have a habit of missing lectures.”

you’re just left confused as to why the conversation didn’t escalate like the typical academic rivals in movies, because you’ve definitely seen gojo bully some people who didn’t know what the fuck they were talking about instead of just blushing like some schoolgirl. regardless, you can’t help but notice the thrill that you felt, having finally argued with him, having been seen as someone worth arguing. you try to temper it as yaga continues onto the rest of the lecture.

…

“i can’t believe you’re making me go.” you tug at the hem of your white corset, paired with a matching skirt, still incredulous at how utahime managed to talk you into attending one of the infamous halloween frat parties. the night air is crisp against your exposed shoulders, and despite your complaints, you shiver more at the thought of wasting the next few hours among sweaty strangers than the actual cold.

utahime, walking beside you in a devil-red version of your outfit—complete with horns perched precariously on her head—looks far too satisfied with herself. she adjusts the horns with one hand, giving you a sidelong glance that practically drips with smugness.

“stop pouting,” she chides. “i’m not going to let you waste another night holed up in your room, buried in manhwa or quantum physics. i’m pretty sure there are cobwebs growing in your—”

“utahime,” you hiss, cutting her off with a mortified glance around.

“pussy,” she finishes, completely unbothered. “i’m going to find you a guy to hook up with. i’m not saying you have to go all the way, but flirting? kissing? maybe something more? very healthy. highly encouraged.”

your mouth falls open in protest, but before you can get a word in, she fixes you with a sharp glare, her dark eyes flashing with all the authority of a disappointed parent. “don’t even think about arguing with me. i swear, if you don’t at least try to enjoy this, i’ll make it my personal mission to find someone for you.”

“i can’t believe this,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “you’re supposed to be my friend, not my pimp.”

“oh, i’m your friend. that’s why i’m doing this. you’ll thank me when you’re sixty and not crying about how boring your college life was.”

“i’m not boring,” you counter. “i’m selective.”

“sure,” utahime drawls, clearly unconvinced. “and whatever weird sexual tension you’ve got going on with gojo doesn’t count.”

you scoff, stopping in your tracks to stare at her. “what tension? we’ve literally talked once this week. and that was the first time we had a conversation.”

she doesn’t respond, already scanning the scene ahead. the street of frat houses looms just ahead, glowing with gaudy orange lights strung up across balconies. the bass from the nearest party reverberates through the pavement underfoot. it’s already crowded, hordes of people shuffling in and out, laughing, shouting, and showcasing their half-baked halloween costumes.

you follow utahime’s gaze to the nearest house, packed with enough people to make the windows fog up. just the thought of squeezing into that humidity makes your stomach churn.

“looks crowded,” you mumble. “maybe we should—”

before you can suggest retreating, utahime grabs your wrist and practically drags you toward the house. “nope. you’re coming in. no backing out now.”

the moment you step inside, the smell hits you. sweat, stale beer, and an undercurrent of what you can only describe as frat-house musk. your nose wrinkles, and you instinctively recoil, pulling your arm free from utahime’s grasp.

“god, it smells like a gym locker in here,” you say, covering your nose.

utahime doesn’t seem fazed. she’s already scanning the room, her eyes landing on a beer pong table set up in the corner, surrounded by cheering students. “this is perfect!” she says, beaming.

“for what? contracting a fungal infection?” you mutter.

but she’s no longer listening, her focus shifting as a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a makeshift cowboy hat approaches her and then stops in front of both of you, his stare fully enthralled by utahime. “hey,” he says, a bit suavely, in the way that makes you inwardly roll your eyes because you know she’s going to eat it up. she likes it when they’re a little ugly, and this guy fits the bill. 

“hey,” and she giggles, making you have to physically fight the urge to puke, “what’s up?”

 they exchange a few words, and before you know it, she’s smiling in that way that tells you she’s found her entertainment for the night.

“go ahead,” you say dryly, waving her off. “i’ll just fend for myself.”

utahime starts to protest, but you’re already beelining for the kitchen, trying to get a drink that’s not too crazy to survive the night. it’s surprisingly less chaotic in the kitchen, though the counters are cluttered with half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and some questionable punch that looks radioactive. you scan the room, your eyes landing on a cupboard that might hold something simple—like water. a series of ding! ding! ding!’s go off in your mind as you find the pack of plastic water bottles. 

standing on your toes, you reach for the handle, but it’s just out of your grasp. you huff in frustration, shifting to get better leverage when a hand way bigger than yours suddenly appears above yours, effortlessly grabbing the item you were reaching for.

“let me get that for you.”

you turn to thank the person, the words dying on your lips when you see who it is.

gojo.

he’s standing impossibly close, his signature smirk firmly in place, but there’s something almost casual in the way he looks at you, as if this is the most normal interaction in the world. you swear you’re so close that you can see like the two open pores on his otherwise flawless skin, as his eyes inevitably drag themselves downwards to scan your outfit for the night—a shitty angel without wings and halo (you couldn’t be paid two shits to put in the effort; both of the top and skirt were utahime’s, anyways.) then, his eyes meet yours again, a bit of playfulness in them. 

“well, well,” he drawls, handing you the water bottle. “never thought i’d see you here.”

you take the bottle, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against yours. “didn’t have much of a choice. utahime dragged me.”

his grin widens. “classic. let me guess—she’s off trying to find her soulmate at the beer pong table?”

“something like that,” you mumble, not wanting to give him the entire story. twisting the cap off the bottle,  you take a sip, hoping he’ll just leave you alone, but instead, he leans against the counter, looking entirely too comfortable.

“so,” he says, tilting his head, “i heard through the grapevine that you had a run-in with that spider-man guy this week.”

that makes you pause mid-gulp of water, instead coughing a bit as you try to swallow it down without basically drowning in kirkland signature natural spring water. you’ve only told like, three people outside of kento and iori, so you’re confused why he knows this information, but you continue on regardless. the memory of spider-man swinging in to save you flashes through your mind, and you can’t help but smile softly to yourself. “it was amazing. he’s—he’s incredible, honestly. the way he just swooped in and handled everything? so fast, so precise. he’s like a real-life superhero.”

you’re basically gushing to him, and you realize that a bit too late as you look at his face to gauge his reaction. he’s looking at you with a newfound interest, albeit a bit too conflicted to fully tease you about it when he says, “sounds like you’re smitten.”

“maybe i am,” you admit, laughing. “i mean, who wouldn’t be? he’s brave, he’s kind, and he doesn’t even stick around for the credit. it’s like he’s this selfless, untouchable figure.” you also kind of want to give him a sloppy toppy for saving you like that, but you spare gojo the details. 

“untouchable, huh?” gojo echoes, his tone turning a bit wry and…jealous? “sounds like someone’s got a crush.”

you roll your eyes, but it’s half-hearted, and you think gojo can tell with the way you’re heating up and bashfully looking at the ground. “don’t be ridiculous.”

“i’m just saying,” he continues, leaning closer, “if that’s your type, you might want to raise your standards. superheroes are overrated.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and what, you’re not?”

he grins, that infuriatingly charming grin that makes you want to simultaneously punch him and laugh. “i’m better. i’m real.” he then puts his hands on the counter behind you, caging you between them until your knees are lightly brushing, and suddenly his face is so close that small little breaths from his nose are fanning across your face. “i can prove that to you.”

and you hate your body for being so…reactive and enthusiastic to his smooth-talking, face flushing. despite that, you try to put on an air of nonchalance. “god, you’re insufferable.”

“really?” he teases. his hand leaves the marble counter to hover at your hip, his hand subconsciously tracing your curves an inch above your skin. the motion, firm but tentative as if he’s waiting for you to give him the green light, makes you shiver as you subconsciously move your hips to finally have the skin-to-skin contact. and your skin sings in happiness as he draws circles into the area right below your skirt, even momentarily dipping just below, to which you realize that he’s treading very close to your panties, since your skirt’s really short.

"yea," you basically sigh, hating yourself for how breathy your voice sounds. 

it seems to have an effect on gojo because his eyes darken as he murmurs, "wastin' your time on that spiderman guy."

maybe it's the fact that it's late (you've been getting sub four hours of sleep this past week) or the lights in this humid frat bring a heady air, but all academic-rivalry-overshadowed-woman-in-stem history between you and gojo disappears in your brain as you rake your eyes up and down his torso and then look at him through your lashes. "who should i spend my time on instead?"

he gives you a little smile as he stares down at you, eyes raking over your face, catching at your lips and then going back up again to meet yours. “i don’t know, someone who’s as smart as you,” he murmurs.

“yea?” you laugh out breathlessly. your faces are so close that in normal circumstances, you would worry about how you both looked so close together, one hand on your thigh and the other splayed on your waist. “and how would you know how smart i am?”

satoru starts, lips coming closer and closer. “because i—”

but he’s interrupted, because you both hear a “satoru” and pull apart, breathing heavily as you both turn to look at the offender standing in the entrance of the kitchen: suguru geto, gojo’s best friend, looking more tired than anything as his eyes catch on you, then going to gojo with a pointed look. it’s not hard to figure out what was going on based on how disheveled you both look, your skirt crooked and his shirt crumbled, and your cheeks heat. before you can say anything, however, suguru sighs and says to gojo, “there’s a burglary happening nearby.” then, he turns but not before giving you a nod. “make sure to stay safe.”

he promptly leaves, leaving you confused standing there. was this such an emergency worth noting that he interrupted his best friend?

you try to seek the answer in gojo’s face, but he has this conflicted, annoyed countenance and you suddenly feel kinda of insecure because he’s raking his hand through his hair, staring painfully at the ceiling then at you. at the same time you utter out a “uh–” he says “i have to go.”

“oh.” you blink. a why brews on top of your tongue, but you temper it, reminding yourself that you’re not close to gojo like that. needless to say, you feel a little embarrassed as you watch him jog out of the kitchen with a little wave to you. you want to overanalyze gojo’s last look to you, the one that looked a bit like disappointment and yearning, but you shake it off, staring at the 16.9 oz plastic water bottle in your hand that you forgot about.

taking a sip, you cringe as you become more aware of your surroundings and the state you’re left in because of gojo. that your panties are a bit more sticky—you reach under your skirt to adjust them so they don’t stick to your crotch so much—and you’re hot all over. 

then reality comes crashing back. what the hell did you and gojo just do right now?

you groan out loud, banging your head against the fridge, but as you reel back, in your peripheral you see  someone there. your head shoots to see the guy who’s now looking at you with a weird expression as he undeniably waits for whatever freaking out you were doing to gain access to the fridge. 

“sorry,” you blurt out, and gather yourself to beeline for the exit. god, you needed to find utahime.

…

the soft hum of a tv in the corner of satoru’s apartment provided the only sound, save for the faint rustle of suguru flipping through a textbook. the remnants of takeout—boxes of half-eaten pad thai and a pile of discarded chopsticks—littered the coffee table between them. satoru leaned back on the couch, legs stretched out, staring at the ceiling like it held answers he hadn’t thought to ask yet. he held a small foam ball, tossing it up and catching it over and over. his mind, however, wasn’t focused on the ball but on you.

it was starting to feel like an obsession. he’d always been able to compartmentalize things—his studies, his friends, his other responsibilities. but you? you’d broken through the usual barriers in his head, wedging yourself firmly into every free thought he had.

“do you think she likes me?” he asked suddenly, breaking the quiet.

suguru glanced up from his book, his expression unreadable. “who, starbucks girl?”

satoru scoffed. “she’s not starbucks girl. she’s…” he trailed off, tapping his fingers against his knee. your name lingered on his tongue, oddly weighty in a way that felt almost unfamiliar.

suguru smirked. “oh, she’s got a name now? progress.”

“shut up.”

but he couldn’t shut his mind off, not when you kept taking up space in it. it wasn’t just that he’d noticed you now—really noticed you, for the first time. it was more than that.

satoru had always known who you were. you weren’t exactly easy to miss. in a program full of ugly guys who didn’t shower and loud personalities, you had carved out your niche by being the cold, unreachable one. the one who didn’t bother with group projects unless she had to, who barely engaged in conversations beyond what was strictly necessary. other guys in the program talked about you, of course. they always did.

“frigid,” they called you. “too serious. probably thinks she’s better than us.”

they weren’t entirely wrong. you were better than most of them, but not for the reasons they assumed. satoru had read your work—papers that brimmed with insights that most of their half-baked theories could only dream of. he could tell you put in the effort in your classes and research, while all the guys left shit-talking had to rely on their grad student mentors to be able to write a legible paper. for fucks sake, he doesn’t even thing anyone could code in qiskit or cirq like you could; he had skimmed your notes once, left them behind after a lecture, and found them meticulous and sharp before he turned them into the professor to return to you.

and yet, despite the brilliance you carried with you, you had never given him a second glance.

that day at starbucks, though.

satoru rolled his head to the side, gaze drifting toward the window. he hadn’t expected to see anyone at five in the morning, let alone you. he’d been desperate for answers then—he had spent his night staring at his hands, which had seemed to keep ejecting spider-like webs after he’d been horribly sick. he knew he shouldn’t have gone fooling around in new york’s subway tunnels at 3am with suguru and shoko, but after a seemingly-harmless spider had bit him, he had been reeling from the discovery of his newfound powers and grappling with the weight of what they meant ever since. 

and there you were, unlocking the starbucks, bleary-eyed but no less composed.

you’d handed him his coffee, not interested in him the entire time, and he remembered blurting something out—something ridiculous about fate or responsibility, his usual bravado faltering in the quiet of the moment. he had been spiraling, unsure of who he was anymore, and you’d said something.

what was it again?

“it doesn’t have to be ‘more’ all the time. sometimes just showing up is enough.”

the words had stayed with him, carved deep into the corners of his mind. you didn’t know it, but they had pulled him back from the edge that day. since then, he’d started noticing you in ways he hadn’t before.

the way you brushed your hair behind your ear when you were deep in thought. the furrow of your brow when you argued as respectfully as you could with a professor (gojo knew you were holding back, though, and the thought always made him smile to himself because if he wasn’t an idgafer he would be incensed like you at the idiotic teacher). the smile—rare, fleeting, but utterly disarming—that occasionally lit up your face when you talked to utahime or that guy you were too friendly around, nanami.

“you’re doing that thing again,” suguru said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“what thing?” satoru asked, sitting up straighter.

“brooding. you’re thinking about her, aren’t you?”

“no.”

suguru arched an eyebrow. “you’re a terrible liar.”

satoru sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “fine. maybe i am. but it’s complicated.”

“how is it complicated?”

“she doesn’t like me,” satoru said, shrugging. “at least, not as me. she likes spider-man.”

suguru blinked, clearly unimpressed. “you’re being stupid bro.”

“i’m not being stupid,” satoru argued. “she thinks spider-man’s this amazing, selfless hero. she doesn’t know i’m just some guy who can’t even figure out how to flirt with her without making an ass of himself.”

suguru leaned back in his chair, regarding satoru with an almost pitying look. “so let me get this straight. you’re worried that she only likes spider-man, even though spider-man is you. like it’s some kind of split personality thing?”

“well, when you put it like that—”

“it sounds dumb,” suguru finished. “because it is dumb.”

satoru glared at him, but suguru only shrugged.  but how could he not think about you? even now, the memory of your voice—calm, steady, and unexpectedly warm—echoed in his head. you had this way of looking at him, like you were peeling back layers he didn’t even know he had. and that smile... he groaned inwardly. he wasn’t supposed to be so drawn to you, wasn’t supposed to imagine what it’d feel like to have you smile at him like that all the time.

“look,” suguru continued, “if you like her, shoot your shot. you’re already overthinking this, and you haven’t even done anything yet. what’s the worst that could happen? she says no?”

“or she laughs in my face,” satoru muttered.

“which would be deserved, honestly,” suguru said, smirking. “but seriously, you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.”

satoru didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the takeout boxes on the table. he wanted to believe suguru was right, but there was a small, stubborn part of him that wasn’t so sure.

because it wasn’t just about rejection, or even whether you liked him as satoru or spider-man. it was about what came after. if he let you in and something happened to you—if his double life brought danger to your doorstep—he wasn’t sure he’d ever forgive himself.

but then there was suguru’s voice in his head, steady and persistent: you’ve got nothing to lose. and everything to gain.

…

amidst a week of endless projects upon projects and other miscellaneous assignments from your research group partners (since the grad students loved to pile their work on top of you, the helpless undergrad), you find yourself nursing a hot chocolate while on top of your dormitory building’s roof. 

you find sanctuary, coming on here for time to yourself whenever you find yourself stuck in a busy week. quiet, solitary, with a view of the city lights flickering like scattered fireflies. you hugged your cardigan tighter around your shoulders as you stepped onto the roof, your laptop tucked under one arm, a mug of tea precariously balanced in the other hand. the air was crisp, biting just enough to sting your cheeks.

setting your mug down on the ledge, you perched beside it, pulling up your knees and balancing the laptop precariously as you typed. the words on the screen blurred after a while, blending into the chaos in your mind. frustrated, you closed it with a snap and leaned your head back to gaze at the stars.

“rough night?”

you startled, spinning your head around so fast your tea nearly toppled. but you can’t find anyone, just the sound of soft footsteps landing somewhere not visible to you. 

“you scared the hell out of me,” you sighed, clutching your chest.

“sorry,” he said, though his tone didn’t sound all that apologetic. “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“then maybe don’t sneak up on people like that,” you muttered, still trying to calm your racing heart.

he chuckled, and the sound was warmer than you’d expected. “noted. so, what’s got you out here at three in the morning? don’t tell me you’re pulling an all-nighter.”

you sighed, the initial shock fading into a dull thrum of shyness. “it’s not an all-nighter if the night isn’t over yet.” then, you squint at a random spot, pretending it’s him. “besides, why are you here? shouldn’t you be out stopping robberies or saving cats from trees?”

“done and done,” he said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the ledge. “now i’m just enjoying the view.”

you turned your gaze back to the skyline, hoping the darkness hid the faint heat creeping up your neck. “so, what’s a guy like you doing on a random rooftop at three in the morning?”

“could ask you the same thing,” he countered.

you hesitated. for some reason, admitting the truth to him felt easier than admitting it to anyone else. “just…needed a break.”

“from?”

“everything,” you said, exhaling slowly. “classes. expectations. people.” you paused, then added with a faint smile, “not you, though. you’re an exception.”

“oh?” his voice lightened, carrying a hint of playful intrigue. “should i feel honored?”

“maybe,” you said. “it’s not every day you get to meet a real hero.” then, “okay, but why do you always hide in the dark?”

his voice is smug, meant to be playful. “it adds to the mystique?”

you pout. “what if i call the police?”

“it’s not like the cops can catch me anyways, baby. their shitty coffee and donut filled asses aren’t enough to keep up with me.”

you really try not to flush when he calls you that pet name. “is success getting to you?”

“what success? most i hear is everyone debating whether or not i should be experimented on.”

“really?” you teased. “that’s not what i saw on my for you page last time. there are girls out there who want you to sign their tits after you rescued that baby.”

then, you hear the soft thud of nimble feet dropping onto the ceiling and turn your head to see him in all his glory. he has a muscular figure highlighted in his white suit, blue and black lines traveling their way across his body. casually, he stretches and then drops down to the floor, sitting cross legged from across from you as if joining you in a regular gossip sesh. he puts his elbow on his knee and rests his head on his hand. “are you one of those girls?”

you laugh sheepishly, turning away as heat creeps up your face again and your heart hammers, because you can’t exactly tell him that, yes you’re absolutely enamored with him after he saved you that day and yes, you do indeed want him to sign your tits.

“you should do that more,” he said.

“what?” you look back at him, wide eyed in confusion. 

“laugh.”

the way he said it, low and almost reverent, made your cheeks heat. you busy yourself with toying with your cardigan, scooting yourself away from the edge and closer to him. “and you should stop being such a flirt,” you said, though there was no bite in your voice.

“can’t help it,” he said, leaning closer. “it’s kind of my thing.”

“is that right?”

“mm-hmm.” he paused, then added, “you know, there’s something i’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“what?” you asked, arching an eyebrow.

“take my mask off.”

the words hit you like a gut punch, dissolving the playfulness that had filled the air seconds ago. you blinked up at him, searching his face—or at least what you could see of it—for any sign that this was some elaborate joke. but there was no hint of humor, no smirk tugging at his lips. he meant it.

your fingers hovered at your sides, hesitant. “are you sure?” the question came out soft, barely audible, but it felt like it echoed in the quiet night.

“never been more sure of anything,” he murmured, voice low and steady.

you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. slowly, almost against your better judgment, you reached up, fingertips brushing the edge of his mask. the fabric felt smooth, warm under your touch, but your nerves were anything but.

with a deep breath, you peeled it back. bit by bit, his face came into view—a shock of white hair, impossibly sharp features, and finally, those eyes. those unmistakable, infuriatingly familiar blue eyes. your breath caught, and for a moment, the world tilted sideways.

“gojo?”

the name fell from your lips before you could stop it, unsteady and disbelieving. your mind raced, trying to piece together the impossible puzzle that had just landed in front of you.

he grinned—that grin, the one that always made you want to slap it off his face and yet somehow managed to disarm you every single time. “hey.”

“hey?” your voice cracked as you took a step back. “that’s all you have to say? hey?”

“would you prefer, ‘surprise’?” he quipped, his grin widening as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

you laughed, the sound a little hysterical but real, like you couldn’t contain the storm of emotions rushing through you. “surprised? you’ve been… you’ve been spider-man this whole time?” the words felt foreign on your tongue, like they didn’t belong in the same sentence as gojo satoru—the one you’d argued with in class, the one who had no problem making you want to tear your hair out. and yet here he was, standing in front of you, the last person you ever would have suspected to be the city’s most infamous masked hero.

gojo gave you that crooked grin, the same one he wore when he thought he had won—when he thought he had it all figured out. “i know. it’s a lot to take in.”

you stared at him, trying to make sense of it, but no amount of logic could bridge the gap between the gojo you knew—the guy who drove you up the wall in class and always had a cocky comeback—and the masked hero who had saved you and the one you had a crush on.

you didn’t know whether to scream, laugh, or cry. 

you take a shaky breath in, still trying to process everything. “you... you saved me, gojo. you’ve been right there, all these times, and i had no idea it was you.”

“guess i’m just that good at keeping secrets,” he said, his tone playful, but there was something more there, something softer, that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. his eyes held a flicker of something—maybe vulnerability, maybe uncertainty.

the weight of the moment hung thick in the air between you, and for a long second, you didn’t know what to say. this revelation was like the ground beneath you had cracked wide open, and you were left staring into an abyss that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

finally, you shook your head, letting out a short breath. “this is insane.”

he didn’t seem bothered by your reaction, though his eyes darkened just slightly, the smirk still there, but with something a little more honest creeping into his expression. “yeah. but you’re handling it better than i thought. kinda thought you would faint, or something.”

the world had shifted, but somehow, with gojo now sitting in front of you like this, with the mask off and the man behind the myth revealed, it felt like the pieces were finally starting to fall into place. even if they didn’t make perfect sense yet.

and yet, something about his presence—his undeniable realness—felt oddly grounding. he wasn’t the invincible spider-man anymore. he was just gojo. the gojo who had somehow become more than just your academic rival, and maybe, just maybe, a little bit more than that.

something in gojo’s facial expression shifted to something a bit more hesitant, a little nervous as he stands and extend his arm out to you. softly, he asks, “do you trust me?”

“yes.” you took his hand, standing up as he flashes you a charming, yet mischievous grin, one so shit eating that you regret saying that. “why?”

“i’m taking you for a ride. consider it an apology for freaking you out earlier.”

you hesitated, looking between his outstretched hand and the city skyline just beyond your college campus. “i don’t think this is a good idea—”

“you trust me, don’t you?”

and somehow, against all logic, you realized that you did.

“fine,” you said, stepping closer to him to cling onto him. 

he pulls you closer, and as he does so, he cranes his neck down to meet your eyes, smiling giddy. “anywhere you wanna go?”

you think for a moment, but know immediately the place where you’d like to visit that’s open at this ungodly hour. “do you know that one shawarma joint—-”

before you can even finish, the wind whips around you as gojo slips his mask back on, pulls you closer to him, and uses his free hand—that is, the one that’s not clinging onto your firmly—to shoot a glistening web, one that you saw when he used it on the man who harassed you in the ally. it clings onto a nearby building, and then you’re off the ground, soaring through the air.

you let out a scream of terror against gojo’s chest, tightening your arms around him. you can feel a laugh rumble in his chest, a boyish chuckle as he peers down at you and shouts, “are you having fun?” 

“gojo,” you whine, burying your head into his chest further. despite your initial fear, exhilaration creeps its way into you as you the city blur, skyline jumping and dipping as gojo effortlessly swung you both around. 

when he finally stopped, landing gracefully on a secluded rooftop, you were breathless—not just from the ride but from the way he was looking at you.

“you good?” he laughed, panting from the exertion and tenderly using his hand to rake his hand through your  hair, which, you note out of embarrassment, must’ve been messed up from the wind passing through it.

“i hate that you made me dizzy, but yea, i’m good,” you mumble, pulling out your phone to open your camera, fixing your hair.

when you’re done, gojo looks at you with the manic buzz you can only have at 3am. “ready to get some shawarma?”

…

the streets were eerily quiet, the kind of silence only a city at 3am could have. just the two of you, your footsteps echoing against the pavement, the occasional glow of a streetlamp painting your path.

“okay, that shawarma was like, mid at best,” gojo walks alongside you. he’s thrown on a sweatshirt and gray sweatpants over his suit, walking alongside you on the street. your stomachs are full, and you suggested a walk to be able to digest the bigass bowl you both ate.

“nothing tastes better than something you’re eating when you’re supposed to be studying, instead,” you shot back, hiding your little smile as you cross your arms while strolling. the shift between you and gojo was so jarring that you’re still reeling at it, but what is 3am if not for big life changes?

“yea, that’s fair,” he sighs, crossing his hands behind his head as he continues strolling beside you.  “so,” he continues, “now that i’ve officially blown your mind with my secret identity and fed you some incredibly mid shawarma, what’s next? should i fly you to paris, or is that too cliché?”

you roll your eyes, but deep inside, you’re really biting back a grin. “relax, bugboy. maybe first let me recover from being swung like a human pendulum.”

gojo stopped walking, turning to face you with a playful glint in his eye. “you’re still thinking about that, huh? admit it—you loved it.”

you raised an eyebrow. “i screamed into your chest for a solid ten seconds. does that sound like love to you?”

he tilted his head, feigning deep thought. “i dunno. there’s a fine line between terror and thrill. and judging by how tightly you were holding onto me…”

“you’re insufferable,” you muttered, but your voice lacked bite.

“and yet, you’re still here.”

his words hung in the air, the playful edge softening into something quieter, more sincere. your steps faltered, and you looked up at him, the absurdity of the night fading into the background as your gaze held his.

“guess i’m curious,” you admitted.

“curious, huh?” he said, taking a step closer. “careful. curiosity killed the cat.”

without thinking, you blurted, “at least i’ve got a fifty-fifty shot, right?” the words barely left your mouth before the regret hit, your inner voice screaming at you for making a lame quantum mechanics joke at a time like this. schrödinger would be proud, you thought bitterly.

but then gojo laughed—not the teasing, obnoxious kind of laugh or the weird look you’d expect, but a genuine, boyish chuckle that reached his eyes. he smiled at you, soft and unguarded, and suddenly, the space between you seemed to shrink.

the flickering streetlamp cast a warm, uneven glow over the two of you. in that moment, the sprawling city felt impossibly small, narrowed down to just him and the pounding of your heart in your ears.

gojo reached up, fingers brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. “you know,” he murmured, his voice low, “i’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”

your breath hitched, heart thundering in your chest. “do what?”

“this.”

before you could respond, he closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was somehow both soft, yet electrifying. for a moment, time seemed to stop, the city around you fading into nothing as the warmth of his touch anchored you in the moment.

when he finally pulled back, his grin was back in full force. “so, was that better or worse than shawarma?”

you blinked at him, still trying to find your footing in the aftermath of what just happened. an immediate feeling of bashfulness crept over you because not only did you just kiss spiderman, you just kissed gojo. there are girls who would kill to be in your position, and that makes you flustered as you turn your head away from him so you don’t have to make eye contact. “i hate you,” you mumble half heartedly, cheeks burning.

gojo doesn’t let you off so easily. his thumb brushes gently along your chin, coaxing your face back toward his. his touch is warm, deliberate, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“oh my god,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “are you embarrassed? you’re so cute.”

when the warmth of his hand leaves your chin, you open your eyes, shocked as you find out that he’s nowhere to be seen. you call out a tentative, “gojo?” 

somewhere behind you, to the left, comes out a muffled shout. “i’m here!” you whip around, your brows furrowing as you follow the direction of his voice. it’s coming from an alley just off the street, dark and bathed in shadows.

“seriously?” you mutter under your breath, your annoyance half-hearted, making your way toward the sound. you find yourself at the mouth of the alley, the dim glow of a distant lamp barely illuminating his silhouette.

gojo’s perched on the side of the wall like it’s the most natural thing in the world, one leg propped up, his mask pulled halfway up to reveal that damn smirk. “you’re slow,” he teases, his tone light and infuriatingly smug.

“what are you doing?” you ask, crossing your arms.

he gestures toward himself. “you came looking for me, didn’t you?”

you roll your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. “what, did you think i’d just leave you lurking in some alley like a creepy insect?”

“well,” he says, shooting a web to stick on the bottom of some stairs of one of the buildings to hang upside down, “you could’ve left, but i had a feeling you wouldn’t.”

before you could retort, he shoots his web closer to something on top of you, now dangling upside down yet again but his proximity even closer, stealing the air from your lungs. his fingers brush a strand of hair from your face, lingering just long enough to make your knees feel unsteady.

“so,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “are we doing this again, or are you gonna keep pretending you hate me?”

your heart stutters, but before you can overthink it, you pull his mask down even further to uncover more of his lips, and you join them together—this time, softer, slower, as if savoring the moment. you grab at his chin to pull him closer to you, you both sighing into the kiss, and then smiling giddily each time you pull back, only to come back in.

and just like that, you start to fall into…something with not only the vigilante that’s swinging around new york, but also gojo satoru, your long-time rival.

…

when satoru swings by your dorm next, he doesn’t expect his heart to lurch so much at the view of you so cozy.

it’s undeniable; you and satoru have been dancing around each other. you’re not exactly a hook-up to each other—you two haven’t had sex—but you’re not exactly girlfriend and boyfriend. and it’s not something casual, either. he doesn’t reveal that he’s spiderman just to get into girls’ pants. 

you’ve both developed a sort of rapport, he supposes. it’s been stolen glances during phys401 and late nights spent talking or, occasionally, making out. you’ve even started to nurse his wounds, if he ever shows up with bruises and blood matting his suit. one of the perks of you having a single. 

he’s even fallen asleep overnight, especially on friday nights when he doesn’t have lecture in the morning. some of his things, like some spare equipment and suits, have even found their way into your closet. 

you’re both on a dangerous roller coaster, and satoru is closing his eyes on the fall down. 

but right now, he’s perched outside your window like a creep. you’re sitting on your bed, cross-legged and squinting at something on your laptop, and satoru smiles to himself as he sees your tank top and shorts and just how homey you look. you probably know satoru is coming, but you’re so comfortable around him that it makes his heart ache. he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t stop.

satoru lightly taps on your window, his knuckle brushing against the glass softly, not wanting to startle you. you glance up, catching sight of him, and there’s no hiding the smile tugging at your lips.

you get up, and satoru follows the movement of your bare legs with his eyes as you slide the window open. “you know, most people knock on doors like normal humans,” you say.

“i like to keep things interesting,” he shoots back, climbing in effortlessly. the faint chill from the night clings to him, and his hair is slightly disheveled from the wind.

he glances around your room, catching sight of your scattered notes and the distinct look of frustration etched across your face. “what’s got you looking so miserable?”

“phys401,” you reply with a resigned sigh, flopping back onto your bed. “this problem set is impossible.”

satoru smirks, peeling off his gloves and mask and plopping down beside you. “let me see.”

acquiescing, you hand over your notebook, watching as he scans your work with intent, eyebrows scrunching as he tries to understand the statement to prove. he makes a few thoughtful noises, before grabbing a pen and scribbling something down. “here,” he says after a moment, “you’re overcomplicating this step. instead of doing the tensor product you did, you could just make this zero by taking an inner product, since they’re orthogonal states. the rest will fall into place.”

you squint at his messy, rushed handwriting, and sure enough, the proof seems to come together. “how are you so good at this?” 

“physics prodigy, remember?” he teases, leaning back on his hands as he lays down on your bed.

“thanks for the help,” you say softly, your eyes lingering on him a beat too long. he’s kind of dreamy, you think. the moonlight filters across your window, giving his platinum hair a sheen as his cerulean eyes look into yours with kindness. 

his smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something unspoken. “anytime.” he then makes a show of stretching out his limbs, purposely bumping into you with one eye open smugly to observe your reaction, to which you glare at him. he spots your notebook, picks it up, and flips through it. “you know, for someone who complains so much about phys401, you’re not half bad at it,” he teases, scribbling something in the margin of your notes by grabbing a stray pen next to him.  

you roll your eyes, shifting so you’re cross-legged on the bed, facing him. “not all of us are physics prodigies, satoru. some of us actually have to work hard.”  

he chuckles, handing the notebook back to you. “hard work is overrated when you can just charm your way through everything.”  

you snort and joke, “if charm was all it took, i’d have aced the midterm.”  

there’s a beat of silence as you glance down at his notes. he’s corrected a mistake you hadn’t even noticed, and his scrawled proof flows so effortlessly it makes you a little envious. “how do you do that?” you ask, more to yourself than him.  

“do what?”  

“make it look so… easy,” you say, frowning slightly. “everything. physics, life, swinging through the city.”  

satoru leans back on his palms, his smirk softening. “trust me, it’s not as easy as it looks.”  

you glance up at him, surprised by the honesty in his tone. “what do you mean?”  

he shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in the way his gaze flickers away from yours. “i mean, everyone sees the guy with the jokes and the perfect test scores, but no one sees the late nights or the bruises.” he gestures vaguely to his chest, where you know the bruises from his spider-man escapades hide. “guess i’m just good at pretending.”  

you sit with his words, the weight of them settling between you. “you don’t have to pretend with me, you know,” you say softly.  

his eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the mask—the real one—drops. “i know,” he says, just as softly.  

the air between you feels heavier, like the world has shrunk to just the two of you. you’re hyper-aware of how close he is, the faint smell of the night clinging to him, the way his knee brushes against yours.  

“thanks,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “for letting me be here. for…” he trails off, his gaze dropping to your lips before flicking back up.  

your breath catches. “satoru…”  

“yeah?” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice lower now.  

“i…” you trail off, not even sure what you were going to say.  

he leans closer, and it feels like everything around you stills. his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb brushing your cheek. “can i?” he asks, his voice barely audible.  

you nod, and then his lips are on yours.  

the kiss starts tentative, almost shy, but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens, his hand sliding to your waist as you pull him closer. the tension that had been building for weeks—months, maybe—finally snaps, leaving nothing but heat and want in its wake.  

his weight presses you back into the bed, and you can feel his heart racing against yours as he pins you to the bed, now on top of you. his hand slips under the hem of your shirt, warm against your skin, and as his thumb traces shapes into your circle and closer to more sensitive areas, a sigh escapes you.  

that’s when he freezes.  

he pulls back, his breathing uneven, his eyes wide and filled with something like fear. “we can’t,” he says, his voice hoarse.  

your heart drops into your chest.

“why not?” you ask, trying to catch your breath.  

“because,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair and he’s heaving. “because i’m spider-man, and you—” he breaks off, looking anywhere but at you. “you deserve better than this. better than me.”  

you sit up, pulling your shirt back into place and looking at him, hurt. “that’s not your call to make, satoru.”  

“i’m trying to protect you!” he says, his voice rising in agitation. he sits back onto his heels, raking a hand through his hair as he looks at the ceiling, as if in pain.

you can’t believe him. his self-righteousness irritates you to no end, especially after you’ve bared your soul, and now your body to him, something you considered intimate. you feel conflicted—whatever you had, it didn’t have a label. but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want that to be true. badly.

“and who asked you to?” you snap back. “i’m not some damsel in distress who needs saving.”  

“i know that,” he says, his tone softening. “but if something happened to you because of me…” he shakes his head. “i couldn’t live with that.”  

the anger bubbling in your chest boils over, and you snap. “so what? you’re just going to walk away? after everything?”  

he stands, his expression pained. “i’m sorry,” he says, heading for the window.  

“don’t you dare apologize,” you say, your voice trembling as you stand by the foot of your bed, hating how your eyes brim with tears. “if you leave, don’t bother coming back.”  

he pauses, his hand on the window frame, before glancing back at you. “i’m sorry,” he says again, softer this time, before slipping out into the night.  

the window clicks shut behind him, and you’re left alone in the silence, the ache in your chest threatening to swallow you whole. 

…

the whir of the espresso machine and the gentle hum of background music fill the mostly empty starbucks, the occasional customer wandering in like clockwork. it’s a quiet shift, the kind you’d usually relish—except today, the quiet only makes the knot in your chest tighten.

you’re stationed behind the counter, staring blankly at the milk steamer as it hisses, lost in your thoughts. that is, until utahime’s voice breaks through.

“alright, spill,” she says, leaning her elbows on the counter beside you.

you glance at her, eyebrows raised. “spill what?”

utahime rolls her eyes, brushing a strand of her hair behind her ear. “oh, please. you look like someone stole your favorite pen and broke it in half. what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you lie, turning back to the steamer. “i’m fine.”

utahime’s skeptical gaze bores into you. “you’re a terrible liar. nanami, back me up.”

from his spot at a nearby table, nanami looks up from his book, his sharp eyes narrowing as they lock onto you. “it’s boy trouble,” he says flatly, like he’s solving an equation.

your head snaps toward him, a glare already forming. “excuse me?”

“it’s obvious,” he says, setting his book down and regarding you with his usual piercing gaze. “you’re distracted, you look upset—it’s boy trouble.”

utahime perks up, leaning closer. “wait, is he right? is this about a guy?”

you let out a groan, leaning your elbows on the counter. “can you two not gang up on me right now?”

“so it is a guy,” utahime says, her tone turning smug.

“i didn’t say that,” you retort, but the heat in your cheeks betrays you.

nanami raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. “you might as well just tell us. it’s not like we’re going to let it go.”

you sigh, running a hand through your hair. “fine. it’s… someone i liked. someone i thought liked me too. but he freaked out and said it was too…dangerous to keep going.”

utahime frowns, her curiosity replaced by concern while kento snorts. “dangerous? what does that even mean?”

“that’s what i’d like to know,” you say bitterly, the frustration bubbling up as you speak. “he acts like he cares, but the second things get serious, he bolts. like i’m some fragile thing that can’t handle it.”

nanami leans back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. “he might not be scared of you. he could be scared of what it means for him. of responsibility and commitment. some people run when they feel too much.”

utahime nods, her hand resting gently on your arm. “whatever his problem is, it’s not fair to you. if he can’t get it together, that’s on him, not you.”

you glance between them, the weight of their words settling in your chest. “i know that,” you say quietly. “it just… sucks.”

“of course it does,” utahime says, her voice soft but firm. “but you’re not the problem here. don’t let him make you think you are.”

nanami picks up his book again but pauses before opening it. “and don’t let him live rent-free in your head. if he can’t see what he’s giving up, that’s his loss.”

their support feels grounding, like a steady hand in the middle of a storm. you manage a small smile, nodding. “thanks, guys.”

“anytime,” utahime says, flashing you a reassuring grin. nanami simply nods, returning to his book but keeping an eye on you like always. for the first time all week since gojo left your room, the heaviness in your chest feels a little lighter.

…

the knock at your window is faint, almost timid, but it jolts you out of your daze. you sit up in bed, your heart pounding as your eyes dart toward the window. it’s late—so late it’s early—and for a moment, you think you imagined it. you hate to admit it, but because of your boy troubles you haven’t been able to sleep all week. you’re also no stranger to imagining ants crawling up your body or phantom noises, so you adjust in your bed, trying to go back to sleep.

then it comes again, a little louder this time.

you throw off the blanket and pad over, the chill of the floor biting at your bare feet. when you pull the curtain aside, your breath catches.

satoru.

he’s crouched outside, his suit torn in places and soaked with blood. his head lolls slightly, like he’s barely holding himself up, and when he lifts his gaze to meet yours, it’s tired and pleading.

you don’t think—there’s no time for that. you unlatch the window and shove it open, reaching out to help him inside. “satoru, oh my god,” you breathe, your voice shaking.

“hey,” he mutters, his grin weak but still so unmistakably him. “sorry for the mess.”

“shut up,” you snap, guiding him onto your bed and setting him down with gentle hands, ones that contrast your tone with him. “what the hell happened?”

“nothing i couldn’t handle,” he says, wincing as he tries to sit up straighter and flashes you a sheepish smile. “you should see the other guy.”

“you’re bleeding everywhere, satoru. you clearly didn’t handle it.” you grab your first aid kit from under the bed and yank it open, your hands trembling.

“i’ve had worse,” he murmurs, but his bravado is thin, cracking at the edges.

“stop talking,” you say, your voice trembling and cracking. “just—just stop.”

for once, you thank the gods that he listens.

you work quickly, cutting away the shredded fabric of his suit and cleaning the worst of the wounds. it’s not pretty—his torso is littered with bruises and gashes, the kind that make your stomach turn—but you keep your focus.

when you press a disinfectant-soaked pad to a particularly deep cut, he hisses, his hand flying to grab your wrist.

“sorry,” you whisper, glancing up at him with a tender look in your eyes. his expression matches yours, and your faces are so close to each other that you can’t bear it anymore, going back to your work.

his fingers loosen but don’t let go, his grip warm and grounding. “you’re good at this,” he says softly, his voice rough.

“yeah, well,” you mutter, ducking your head to avoid his gaze. “you’ve given me plenty of practice.”

the silence stretches as you finish bandaging him up. when you’re done, you sit back, your hands still trembling as you place them in your lap. “you’re an idiot,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

he laughs, soft and hoarse. “yeah. i get that a lot from this girl i know.”

you look up at him, and the weight of everything—his injuries, his secret, the distance he tried to put between you—crashes over you. “you can’t keep doing this, satoru. you can’t keep pushing me away just to show up like this.”

his smile fades, replaced by something raw and unguarded. “i know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “i know, but…”

“but what?” you demand, your voice cracking. “you’re spider-man? you think that’s an excuse to keep shutting me out?”

“it’s not an excuse,” he says, running a hand through his messy hair, matted with even more blood. his or someone else’s, you’re not sure. “it’s a reason. i don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

“you think i’m not already hurting?” you snap, the anger bubbling to the surface yet again. “you think it doesn’t kill me to see you like this and know i can’t do anything to stop it?”

his eyes widen, and for a moment, he looks like a little boy, lost and unsure. it is then that it hits you that he’s just twenty. a college student, not someone who’s wanted by the cia or someone who’s battled terrorists. for fucks sake, he can’t even legally drink. 

and your heart can’t help but melt as he says, “i just… i don’t want to lose you.”

“then stop trying to,” you say, your voice softer now. “stop pretending like you’re protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. let me in, satoru.”

he stares at you, his breath hitching like he’s holding back a thousand words. then, in a rush, he closes the distance between you, his hands cradling your face as he presses his forehead to yours.

“i’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “i’m so sorry.”

you exhale shakily, your hands finding their way to his wrists. “just stop being an idiot, okay? stop trying to do this alone.”

he nods, his grip tightening like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. “i promise,” he says, and for the first time, you believe him.

…

a cramp gripping satoru’s entire leg is what wakes him up. 

he winces in memory of the injury; one of those stupid terrorists had too good of an aim, grazing his leg while he was mid-air. it hurts like a bitch now, and he moves to lay on his back, until something stops him. roses.

he looks, bleary eyed, to you. the floral scent coming from you, making him dizzy. his body cocooning yours. 

you both unconsciously moved in your sleep so that you were spooning, your fragrant hair, soft from shampooing, tickling his throat with your ass in his crotch.

nestled right against his morning wood.

good fucking lord, he groans to himself, then starts to panic because if you wake up and realize he had a raging hard-on while you were sleeping, you would definitely think he was a creep. he’s already on thin fucking ice. so naturally, he starts to recite the star spangled banner while trying to will his boner away.

oh, say can you see—

to no avail, because you huff softly in your sleep, soft and warm body unconsciously leaning back to grind your ass against his lap, turning his dick to steel.

“oh, fuck,” he curses out loud, using his hand to cover the lower half of his face and clench his eyes shut. you feel so sweet, innocently adjusting while he can’t even control his lust for you.

but once the grind seems to continue for a bit too long, more than what can be chalked up as adjusting in your sleep, he peers down at you. you’re awake. 

and because satoru’s selfish, his hands creep up your tank top, settling on your bare stomach, where he knew you were ticklish. as a result, you wiggle, and he uses this opportunity to pull you even closer to him, right up against him. 

“baby,” he says, making his voice all deep and sighs on purpose, just to be unfair to you. “is this okay?”

you whine, and he settles his face in your hair, the strands of it tickling his skin as he inhales in the scent of you. “i thought it was a dream.”

he smiles into your hair. you make him feel like sunshine incarnate, and the rush he’s getting right now is akin to the one he gets jumping off the empire state building. “no, this is very real.”

“hm,” and you continue to drag your ass into him, murmuring in a soft voice that makes him want to take you right there and then, “it still feels like a dream. like you’re not real, right now.”

oh, what he would do to make you say his name in that same voice; he wants to whisper all the things he wants to do to you right now. “i know, baby. you feel like a dream.” his hands continue to slide up and up your torso, groaning at your sharp intake as he gently fondles the softness of your breasts. 

you overwhelm his senses, teasing him, and when you let out a whine of his name, satoru snaps.

“i’m going to make you feel good right now. tell me if it’s a fucking dream,” he grits out, ignoring whatever cramps that were screaming at him to get on top of you. 

you gasp out a “satoru,” wriggling in his grasp, and he can’t take it anymore. he brings up one of his hands. shoots a web that lands right on your left hand. then your right hand.

satoru just tied you up using his webs.

you look at him in whatever version of shock you can muster in your tired state. “satoru, what the—” but you’re muffled, because he’s kissing you, hard, roving his hands up and down your body and grabbing whatever he can as if he’s devouring you while making out with you.

“do you know,” and his eyes flash dangerously while looking down at yours, “how you’ve teased me with these shorts?” his hands trails down to the waistband of the offending piece of clothing, pulling it to make it snap against your skin. you jump, looking at satoru desperately, who’s left you bare at his mercy, subject to his super human strength as he grabs your shorts with both his hands again. “every fucking time i’ve sneaked up in to your room, it’s been so hard to not fuck you senseless in these flimsy things. it’s only fair you pay the price, right baby?”

it’s not like you have anything to answer him with, having lost all brain cells being fucked out like this. he pulls them down, and if he had laser vision, he would have stared through your panties long ago, eyes fixated on the crotch that was nearly translucent with the amount of slick going through it. burying his face right in between your thighs, he noses at your cunt before groaning. then, he uses his teeth to grab onto the middle and pull. until your pussy is bare to him.

“oh, fuck you’re so pretty,” he curses, lapping at your sweetness. his tongue roves up and down your folds, and if your hands could, they would be pulling at his hair solely because you were so sensitive. but you were trapped, thighs gripped in his strong hands and your arms trapped by his ultra-strong webs. “my good girl.”

then, you feel pressure at your opening. “sato—” you squeal but are immediately interrupted by your own moan as he curls his long, thick fingers, eyes observing your every movement as you squirm, electric shocks running up and down your body as he hits your spot dead-on.

and he notices, because the motherfucker chuckles. “oh, so that’s the spot, huh?” he purrs, visibly pleased as he memorizes it and abuses it, hitting it with every stroke. you barely notice him add one finger, add two fingers as he starts to suck on your clit. overwhelmed with pleasure, you’re only brought back to reality when he rips all contact away from you.

“what—” you mumble mindlessly, until you see what he’s doing. he pulls his sweatpants down. and he’s not wearing boxers, so you drool when his cock springs out, leaking copiously and hard. without taking his eyes off you, he pumps it to its fullest length, and you’re just staring in awe at its sheer length.

“what’re you looking at, baby?” he teases, using his hand to wiggle his cock in front of your face to mock you. “want it so bad, isn’t that right?”

you glare at him half-heartedly, but whine regardless. “just put it in, gojo.”

“oh,” and he flashes you a smile that makes a big danger sign in red flash across your mind. “it’s gojo, now is it?”

 “satoru,” there are tears brimming in the corner of your eyes, the ones that make satoru even more aroused at your want, “please. i need it.”

a boyish grin and a forehead kiss that has you reeling at his duality. “anything for my woman in stem.” with that, he pushes in, both of your eyes rolling back as his cock is engulfed by your gummy walls. soon after, he starts thrusting, desperation fueling both of you as you cross your legs behind gojo’s back, the deeper angle making his thighs shake while fucking into you. 

he grabs your face, gives you a tender kiss. “fuck, i love this pussy. so sweet for me.” 

you give him a wanton moan in return as he continues to thrust deep, tender strokes into you. “satoru, ‘m not gonna last long.” with the amount of foreplay he’s done alongside how sensitive you are, you’re steadily reaching your orgasm already, and with the way satoru’s now tightly gripping the sheets beside you while thrusting inside you, he is too.

wet squelching noises echoes across the room, and you know the neighbors can hear the obscene plap! plap! plap! coming from skin meeting skin, your hips against his. he buries his face into your neck, panting at your ear until he uses his hand to wrench your face towards his.

“i love you,” he groans, forcing your eyes to meet his. “i love you forever and will do so. so you can’t break my heart,” and he’s desperately thrusting again, “and you can’t leave me. please.”

at his confession, you break, back arching as you also squeal out a iloveyou while gasping loudly, hips rolling to rise against his as he fucks you through your orgasm. quickly, his thrusts veer into overstimulation and you whine. “toru.” he takes one look at your state—face impossibly flushed, hands tied, and pussy absolutely engulfing his cock, and his orgasm hits him like a truck, making him gasp and bend and break as he goes to heaven and back with the aftershocks of your orgasm making your pussy clench around him so beautifully. his cum enters you in hot spurts, making you exhale sharply at the feeling as he comes down from his orgasm, collapsing next to you.

for a few minutes, heavy breathing fills the room, both of you catching your breaths. until satoru breaks the silence. “so, what’s it like to fuck a superhero?”

you take one look at him—all smug and propped up on his elbow—and spidey sense be damned as you try grab a pillow. key word is try because you’re then wrenched back with a reminder that you’re still bound. “satoru,” and you give him a sickly sweet smile, the one that he knows means he’s in trouble, “when are these going to dissolve?”

and satoru pretends to be deep in thought, but you can see him trying to inch off the bed slowly, as if to escape your wrath after his answer. “uhm…maybe five hours?”

if it weren’t for the damn spidey sense that he had, he wouldn’t have been able to escape the swing of your legs as you looked at him murderously. “satoru gojo you will unhand me from these webs this instant—-“

“i don’t know,” he shrugs, shit eating grin in his face. “you look kinda sexy in bed like this. mad at me.” but when your eyes flash with anger, he hiccups nervously, telltale of the fact he won’t mess with you.

“i hate you,” you groan out, pouting like a petulant child while you glare at the ceiling.

 satoru comes close to you to bend at his waist and give you a forehead kiss. “no, you don’t.” 

you give him a pointed glare, telling him not to be testy. “clean me up. now.”

at your expression, his eyes widen in fear and he salutes. “anything for you, ma’am.”

at his retreating form, you giggle and sigh to yourself. you never would’ve known that spider-man would be the one fetching a clean up rag for you after fucking the shit out of you, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

when satoru comes back, he cleans you up, tenderly, as if he is afraid that you will break. you’re a little drowsy when he returns to you, but he doesn’t dare try to wake you up when he hears little breaths from your nose indicating you’ve fallen asleep. after he finishes his job, he admires your features.

satoru lingers for a moment, his gaze softening as he watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest. the weight of his responsibilities presses on him, as it always does, but tonight, it feels heavier—like a tether pulling him between the life he’s chosen and the life he craves.

you, so peaceful in sleep, represent something fragile, something precious. and that terrifies him. because what if he fails? what if the cost of being spider-man is losing the one thing that feels real?

still, he knows he can’t walk away—not from this city, not from you. with a deep breath, he leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your forehead, a silent promise lingering in his chest.

“i’ll keep you safe,” he murmurs, barely audible. “no matter what.”

instead of leaving, satoru settles down beside you, careful not to disturb your rest. the city can wait, just for a little while. for now, he wraps an arm around you, grounding himself in the warmth of your presence. as your breathing evens out against him, he lets his own eyes drift shut, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifting. today, he chooses to stay.

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist | spiderman!gojo masterlist

a/n ok if you're ever curious what being fucked in the ass with a wooden dildo no lube is like, just try to write this fic or any longfic. it's 4am, this a/n is short and unintelligble just like most of this fic but it's been a journey, im very sentimental because of this fic and i hope you guys like it. ok im going to pass out so pls ignore all typos xoxo but please flood my inbox im excited to see yalls reactions when i wake up

plspls pls comment and reblog!!!

TAGLIST

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

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@honeynanamin @obsessgurlll @starrnai @herefor-tojis-tits @ramonathinks

@creamflix

[peachpitfics]

Loml

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: You have been married six months, and it is fresh hell trying to conceive an heir with somebody you are repulsed by. Luckily, your old friend is willing to help you get through it while your husband is out of town.

Length: 2.6k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Infidelity/adultery, themes allude to SA with unwanted husband (not described or mentioned), cunnilingus, face sitting, oral sex (male & female receiving), penetrative sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, sex for the sake of breeding, breeding kink?, orgasm.

a/n: This is part ii of Wildest Dreams, requested by anon here! This turned out a little more angsty than I had planned!

Bridgerton master list (tag list)

Six months ago, your father inflicted the cruelest curse upon you when he married you off to his vilest friend, Lord Howard. Six months of marriage, six months of scheduled contact, attempting to make an heir. Agreeing to once per month, having to allow Lord Howard access to your body in order to do so, six attempts were far too many already.

As soon as Lord Howard informed you of his business travel plans, you began thinking about Benedict Bridgerton. Somebody you thought about relentlessly, however, in this case, you were hoping to hold him to a promise he had made you earlier in the year.

Immediately penning a letter addressed to him at Bridgerton House, with details regarding location, date and time. The staff had been quite loyal to you since moving into the grand house. Most of your time was spent in the country, avoiding your new husband – the service staff there thought you were a gift from heaven, far too good for the old codger, as they called him. They looked after you, and you ensured the same for them. They would keep your secret.

Benedict arrived by carriage a week later, the afternoon after your husband’s departure, having written to accept your invitation, but only to discuss what had been promised in the past. Benedict looked the same, but cleaner, his hair shorter. He looked grown up. He stepped from the carriage, baring in easeful smile, just for you.

“Lady Howard” He bowed properly, it felt like a jive.

You did not speak a word, jumping forward and into his arms, throwing yours around his neck. It was the first time you’d felt safe in months. Benedict’s eyes flicked between the housekeeper, the footman and you, desperately trying to understand if this was okay.

“They are my friends; they would never harm me. I know it is strange, but they really do help me keep my secrets” You tried to reassure Benedict, whispering in his ear.

“It is not strange, it is very country, I suppose,” His arms tightened around your back, lifting you off the ground slightly, “I have missed you. I did write” Benedict squeezed.

“I know,” You let him go, holding out a hand to walk him into the house, “I have your letters hidden in my dressing room. I do apologise for not replying” Ben took your hand and followed you into the house, leaving his luggage on the carriage for the staff to care for.

Benedict was amazed by the house, its long concrete walls and vaulted ceilings. It felt similar to a castle, empty and cold. After your evening meal, you took Benedict for a walk around the gardens. Two swings hung from the branch of a very old tree nearby, one of your favourite places to hide from Lord Howard.

“Where has he gone to?” Benedict asked, lighting a cigarette and passing it to you.

“France… I think. I was not paying very much attention when he was speaking. I was too focused on getting you here. I have been waiting for months, building rapport with the staff, friendships even. I just needed him to leave, so we could do this right” You stuttered, watching your feet dangle as you swung back and forth.

Benedict paused, taking the cigarette back and drawing in, “It has not been going well then?” The question was serious, but even he snorted when he got the words out.

“We have been intimate too many times already. I thought this was supposed to be easy. Women get pregnant all the time” You sighed.

“Yes, when they do not mean to of course. Also, you must account for your husbands age” Benedicts eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

“Please, do not call him that” You interrupted.

Benedict exhaled heavily, “That is who he is, y/n. He is your husband. If we do this, we commit infidelity. There are consequences for such acts, are you prepared to accept those consequences?” Benedict asked. You had not ever seen him quite this serious. It scared you, seeing what six months will change in a person.

“I am!” You said adamantly, one stiff nod of assurance. There was no way you could take any more of this. One child, that was all you needed, to make it all stop.

You reached over to Benedict’s swing, his sweet face resting on the rope, thumb caressing his cheek, “Will you be able to live with this? Your child, raised as another mans? Never being their father, or having a role in their lives?” You asked, hoping it was not too cold a question. Benedict pulled slightly away from your touch.

“That is what I wanted to speak to you about…” Benedict whispered, “I know that Lord Howard is your husband and that I am too late, y/n. I will give you a child, if I can. I will give you as many as you damn well want. But I must know that after Lord Howard has passed, you will come to me” Benedicts eyes were soft and glassy in the moonlight, the burning ember of the cigarette fading in his laxed hand.

“Benedict” You shook your head and closed your eyes. How could you make such a promise?

“I do not care if the old bastard lives another 20 years, y/n, I will wait. I will wait in torment for you. Even if I must spend the next decade in hell, learning to bend time, I will. And if we are only allowed a short time together, then so be it because whether it be 5 minutes or 50 years, it will still never be enough time. There is an inexhaustible amount of love for you in my heart. I did not recognize it before, I was selfish and hopeless. The two of you will come home to me, and we will be deliriously happy” Benedict dreamed aloud, starry eyed.

You sat in silence for a moment, looking at each other with tragic longing deep set in your eyes.

Benedict’s eyes cleared, his smile faded, “I know you love me” He breathed boldly.

You jaw clenched shut, your eyes closed over slowly, a single tear running down the far side of your face so Benedict could not see.

“I love you,” He howled toward the moon, “I loved you the moment I saw you. I have adored your passion and cherished your friendship, while cowering in the frozen solitude of my own mind. I have dreamt of you and our life together every day since your marriage date, stirring in agony, every night. Every time I close my eyes, the profound pit of blackness inside consumes me – until I wake again, then my existence is marred by its lack of yours. Your name haunts my tongue, its ineffable song too wistful a sound on my lips. I am left stumbling through life, scattered across the universe, searching for you” His once invincible foolhardiness nowhere to be seen. The peaceful eloquence of his voice so familiar to you, always a poet.

Standing from your swing, hand outstretched to Benedict, you tried to allow your eyes to do the speaking. His sad, desperate eyes, staring up at you in solemn hope, his hand bound for yours. You escorted him inside in silence, the air surrounding dense with disquiet. Leading Benedict into your bedroom, separate from the Master bedroom, you closed the door behind him.

Locking eyes in malicious yearning, your bodies came together, navels pressed, hands roaming across every inch of your torso. Benedict grasped the back of your neck, enchanted look in his eyes as he littered kisses along your jawline and down your throat. You breathed heavily under his lips, breasts heaving against his chest. Reaching around for the bows on your dress, undoing them as quickly as you could, desperate to shed your clothes for him, Benedict palmed at your breasts through your dress. He halted his movements when he noticed your hurry and began stripping himself down also.

“I have been thinking, of one thing in particular, all these months” Benedict panted, leading you over to your bed. You nodded, waiting for him to elaborate. Benedict laid, his back to the bed, your hands in his, guiding you over top of him. You hovered over his nude hips, he smiled cheekily, waving you up higher. You frowned down at him, completely confused by what he was asking. He tugged you upward, your knees resting either side of his head.

“You will have to trust me” He gave a soft, dreamy smile as you gave him a befuddled one back, bare behind resting on his chest. You pursed your lips, Benedicts hands digging into your hips pulling you down onto his face. His breath hot against your skin, his wet tongue sinking betwixt your folds, starting gently at your clit. You jerked in animated surprise, finding yourself lowering back down instinctively. Benedict’s hands kneaded your behind, rolling your hips down onto his tongue. You had done your darndest to replicate the way Benedict made you feel, to no avail, at a complete loss for how you would miss his devastating body.

Your fingers tangled into his hand, drinking in every tangible flick of his tongue against your clit. His lips pressed, sucked and kissed at you, pulling you further into his indulgent dreamland. Benedict’s big, blue eyes staring up at you, grinding down on his face, his premeditated attack on you began, wrapping his flexed arms around your thighs and holding you firmly in place. Blinding pleasure laved over you, your eyes uncontrollably clamping shut so hard you swore you saw every colour imaginable. Screaming Benedict’s name, his amused tongue swirling you to completion, you panted animalistically, unable to move.

“That was incredible. I do not believe I could have prepared myself for how much better that was going to be outside my dreams” Ben moaned into your pussy, lapping at your juices, drinking you in. You rested a moment, watching Benedicts crowning smile, his asinine eyes filled with everything else he wanted to do with you.

Freeing Benedict from beneath you he shuffled up the bed, resting upright against the grand wooden bedhead, his legs out in front of him.

“Shall we try?” Benedict asked delicately.

“Please” You whimpered, crawling to him, taking his cock in your hand.

You laid between his legs a moment, holding him in your hands, moving gently. Leaning forward to kiss his tip, your tongue flicked over his pink flesh, Benedict could not help but moan. Taking him into your mouth, you sunk down in long hot strides, pressing his cock to the back of your throat. His fingers wrapped into your hair, pulling you onto him further. Benedict relished your working on him, libidinous smile engraved on his face, pure bliss.

“I do not think that is how one makes a baby” Benedict chuffed, pulling you up quickly, forcing you to wrap your legs around him. Face to face, you grinned into his splendidly hot kisses, his hand slipping between the two of you to situate himself. You felt his tip nudging against your entrance, hard and waiting, slipping inside of you. You gasped loudly, burying your face into his neck as a biological urge forced you to bounce.

Benedict growled lowly into your ear as you moved into a groove together, slow and tedious in perpetual delight. Benedict placed his hand in the smallest of gaps between you, his thumb adjacent to your clitoris; every movement, sinking to his hilt, he brushed against you softly. You were not aware that it could happen more than once, your heart quickened aggressively, Benedict tongue descending into your mouth as you whimpered louder and louder. Nails embedded into Ben’s shoulders, blood nearly drawn, your eyes holding his gaze, sheer hunger lived in his eyes. Hunger for you. Your pussy began quivering around him, aching, throbbing, trying desperately to take in more of him. Excruciating pleasure erupted from you, grasping his cock hard from within, your legs shook as your wetness spread between the two of you. Benedict did not stop this time, taking his hands to your hips as you ceased moving, manipulating your movements, grunting into your neck. Every time he led you to release, he seemed to get harder, more attracted to you. You did your best to get deep breaths in, to bring yourself back to reality, his cock still pounding into you steadily made it difficult. His teeth edge to edge in painstaking need, his forceful hands and powerful thrust told you he was close.

“Please,” Your voice rang out, his eyes needy and frenzied, “Please, Benedict, put that baby in me!” You continued to beg, his ragged panting and dreary eye contact wavering as you took control of your body again, bouncing heartily onto his cock. Every muscle in his body seemed to tighten at the same time, his hands aggressively pressing you down, as he groaned and grunted fiercely. You squeezed him inside, gently rolling your hips forward, feeling his cock pulsate inside you.

Benedict’s head rested against the bed head, his breath uneven and heart throbbing in his chest. Attempting to get off him, to allow him room to breathe, Benedict stopped you. He blinked himself back to this plane of existence.

“No, it helps if we stay like this” He explained through puffs.

“Really?” You frowned, never having thought about it.

“Yes,” He nodded frantically, “If we stay like this, everything will stay inside” He explained. You hummed in agreement, thinking perhaps that was what you had been doing wrong. Whatever it was that you were doing wrong, you were glad for it. If this made you an adulterer, a traitor, a betrayer, you did not care. Not for this.

Your hands rest on Benedicts chest, fingers splayed in brown chest hair, your eyes lingering over his collar bones and shoulders.

“What are you doing?” He asked, feeling rather observed.

“Taking you in” You purred, taking mental pictures in case you never saw him again. Benedicts hand rose to your face, his thumb rolling over your bottom lip, sliding down your neck to lure you into his most romantic kiss yet. Moments later, Benedict allowed you to slide off him, laying you with your legs up parallel to the headboard. You wondered how many more times you would get to feel like this.

“Shall I leave in the morning?” Benedict asked, a tremble in his voice.

“Absolutely not!” You exclaimed, Benedict lying next to you, a huge grin on his face.

“I joke, my Lady” Benedict laughed as you shoved him gently.

“You will be staying the entire week. I will hold you prisoner if I must” You chortled.

“Excellent, better treatment than home I expect. I will take it” Benedict stretched, every strained muscle flexing in exhilarating sex appeal. “We need every opportunity if we’re to make this baby” He smiled, thrilled at the chance to say such things, hoping one day his babies would come home to him.

“That is not the only reason I want you to stay” You said mellifluously, your soft, thoughtful eyes inspecting his reactions. Benedict frowned placidly, unsuspecting of your joyful surrender.

“You are the love of my life, Benedict Bridgerton,” Tears welled grievously, guileless love calm in your smile, “We will be together. I will be your wife, and I will bring our children home to you”.

Benedict leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours, unhurried and glorious. Tears streamed down his face, amazed and implicit, his sureness of his love for you unwavering.

“How ever long it takes, whatever I must do, we will be together” Benedict smile was humble, but fearless.

--------------------------------------------

Tag list: @cringycat24 // @blckbarbiedoll // @freyagallileaevans // @junkie05 // @rosabeetroot // @flamewriterr // @marvelouslyme96 // @moreover-clover // @dollarstore-lydia-deetz // @newavenger // @lifealot // @rosie-posie08 // @saintmagx //

If you would like to be tagged in Bridgerton fanfiction written by me, please let me know!

[inkdrinkerworld]

Ok now I’m officially obsessed with starting over!!! Maybe it could be fun to do something like their first time together? If ur comfortable with smut! If not I think it would also be fun to do something like james seeing reader get back to her true self yk like enjoy hobbies again and be more independent again. I know that when I started doing that stuff again I had come a long way from my SA experience. No pressure tho! Love ur writing 💕

yes i love them too, they're my babies! i went with the solo hobby because i feel this would be them like just before their first time, easy flirty conversation, but also i feel like her being solid in herself again has to come first ygm? anyway, i hope you enjoy lovieꨄ︎

“If you try to grab this from me, I’m gonna swat your bum.” James sings as he carries two bags of soil on his shoulders into your garden. 

Heat licks up your neck even though he can’t see you behind him. 

“But I,” You trail behind him, dungaree hems dragging in the wet mud at the edge of your pathway. 

James sets the bags down right beside your flower beds. “Sweetheart,” he turns to you, “Angel girl of mine,” You melt the second his hands cup your cheeks, brown eyes boring into yours as he presses your foreheads together. “I’m deadly serious about swatting your bum. Leave the heavy things alone.” 

You pout and it earns you a kiss and James’ gentle laughter. He pulls one more bag from his boot, setting it atop the others. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to go back and get the pink plant?” 

He can’t remember the name of it, just that it made you excited to see it in the nursery. 

You shake your head, grabbing your gloves and shears from under your porch step. 

“I have two inside already, Jamie.” 

He stands by your gate, taking in all the flowers, pots and bags of soil and mulch there waiting for you. 

“Remember to take breaks,” he starts as you walk towards him. “Drink your lemonade, and have the other half of the sandwich. I put it in the fridge.” 

You roll your eyes as you slip your hands into your gloves. 

You’re excited to start gardening again. It had been a while, and despite your lack of attention, the sun hadn’t scorched everything to death until a week ago. Now when you look at it, you get sad, thinking of how much that day had stolen from you and how you won’t let it take anymore. 

You like gardening, and you want to make the front of your home gorgeous again. 

“I will,” you tilt your head back, “Kiss?” 

James’ heart warms as it always does when you ask. It’s fucking adorable but it warms his heart because it took time for you to ask things of him like this. He doesn’t take it for granted. 

James gives you two before getting into his car. As much as he’d wanted to stay and help, you were excited to do this for yourself and he wouldn’t get in the way of that because doing things yourself was the stepping stone for regaining all of your independence and getting into your hobbies again. 

James didn’t want you to feel like he didn’t trust you with your own progress. 

Still, you send him a photo of you taking a break to have an early dinner a few hours later. Soil smeared on your forehead and cheek as you smile in the photo. 

Hours later, you send James a mirage of photos. Hydrangeas, daylilies and green filler plants in one box, then herbs for your kitchen garden, and then flowers he recognizes from his mother’s own garden but definitely can’t remember the name of. 

There’s a last box, one you’d told him was for wild flowers. It won’t bloom for a few weeks yet, but you’re excited to see what comes of it. 

James’ responding text makes you smile.

It looks gorgeous, angel. Proud of you for getting it all done today.

You text back, 

Call me before bed?

You can just about imagine James’ grin, bright and beaming. 

Yeah, wanna have a cup of tea with you xx

[spookieloverslittlemind]

Michael Myers x gn!reader

tw: references to being spiked (not by Michael tho) and narrowly-avoided SA, obviously murder and gore referenced x

2.7k words

gif credits: @victoryrifle

Loud And Clear…

There are none that know Michael Myers' motivations. In truth, there are none that know whether Michael knows his own. To many, Michael is a killing machine who will stop at nothing, with no end goal, and yet...he is patient. There must be a degree of contemplation in a man - or monster - who chooses when to kill and when to return to dormancy; who refuses to run in any circumstance . And if Michael chooses who to kill, he has his own motivations for those he does not kill, too.

In the midst of a Halloween party that got out of hand enough for the police to be called, Michael Myers appears as nothing more than another person dressed for the occasion. While countless drunk and disorderlies are being arrested and shoved into police cars, there are none to notice the slightly-out-of-place sight of a man walking with steps too rigid to be anything other than sober, to sit himself in the back of a police car. And then, he waits. For what, is open to interpretation. Perhaps he is waiting for a couple of cops to take the drivers and passengers' seats in front of him. Perhaps he is waiting for them to drive him to the cell they intend to put him in, and perhaps he has not yet decided whether he will let them.

What Michael did not consider, however, was that a police officer would be foolish enough to shove someone else into the back of the very same police car he occupied. An easy enough mistake to make - The Shape is not the easiest to perceive unless he makes himself known - but it is a mistake that could have very easily cost someone's life in the age old tale of police negligence. Except, as two black eyeholes stare down at the crumpled mess of a person that has been haphazardly thrown onto the seat beside him, Michael only tilts his masked head. Having never been the most socially aware creature, he doesn't quite understand why you appear barely conscious, more so than the drunk people he had observed at the party. In the rare microseconds of your heavy eyelids opening, your eyes appear bleary...similar to the eyes Michael has witnessed life departing from, at his hands. Or knife. But Michael did not cause that look in your eyes. Something about that seemed...wrong, to him.

"Sorry...'m sorry..." Your mumbles are borderline incoherent as you try and fail to pull yourself up into a seated position, only to collapse on shaking arms and have your face pressed into Michael’s sleeve.

An apology? He cannot recall a time he has received one of those. From what he understands, an apology should have a reason; nothing you have done prompts an apology to Michael, in his mind. Perhaps his perception is too black and white for this, he concludes.

Your breathing is too laboured. Too staggered. Michael can hear it. Of all things, breathing is one of the easiest for him to read. Social cues are lost on Michael, but by your breathing, he can determine that you are not frightened, or upset; you are breathing as though injured, but he sees no blood. Lifting his other hand, Michael pushes your hair in different directions with uncharacteristic gentleness, checking over your head until he is satisfied you have no bruises there that could have caused your confusing state. This is drunk, but worse. It does not seem you are aware of your surroundings at all, except for the fact you have acknowledged someone is observing you in a less than dignified state, hence your apology. In fact, it would appear your senses are completely incapacitated, because you actively lean into Michael’s hand on your head as though it were a caress. Michael does not caress, he checks. But, he watches the way your head fits against his hand. For a moment, he does not move it. And then he does. Very slowly, he uses his hold on your head to guide you down, until you are lying on the backseat and no longer partially on him.

There is nobody to ask Michael why he gets out of the police car and closes the door behind him, but even if there were, they would receive no answer.

Clinging to your last thread of consciousness, your ears just about detect the sounds of distant yells and screams. Loud thuds. Smashing glass. With it all sounding so far away, and with the nausea and confusion that has rendered you almost paralysed, your survival instincts are...dulled, to say the very least. As far as you're aware, you blink, and the sounds are suddenly clearer. You are no longer still - though you are incapable of feeling completely still while your head and stomach turn so violently, but you can acknowledge the motion of being carried by someone. Or something. Flashing lights, red and blue against heavy eyelids. The only sound left is police sirens, fading until the heavy footsteps match the slow thudding of your heart. Or is it his, pressed to your ear.

It is not the first time Michael has carried dead weight. He doubts it will be the last. The only difference is that typically, the dead weight he carries is actually dead, and he is posing it in a way he sees fit. He has never carried someone back to his family home, but any who have labelled Michael Myers as predictable haven't lived to hold that belief for very long.

To you, no time has passed since you tasted your first drink at the bar; your eyes closed there and opened to a completely unfamiliar place. There is pain everywhere you are capable of feeling it. You are lying in a bed - notably, you have been very obviously tucked into said bed - that is not yours, in a house you do not recognise, and you dread to think up the kind of one night stand you may have had if you remember absolutely nothing of the night before. On the bedside table, there is a glass of water. It's a struggle to pull yourself up into a sitting position, but you manage to press your back against the pillows to remain upright. The pounding in your head does little to assist you in comprehending your surroundings as you glance around the room, but the towering figure staring out from the window with his back to you is something you would struggle to miss, even in your present state of...well, judging by the mask you can see on that man's head, delirium?

"H-Hello, um, I'm really sorry," An immediate apology being the second thing Michael has ever heard you say. If, this time, slightly more coherently. "I don't know where I am."

Michael brought you here. Of course you do not know where you are. That does not constitute an apology. Politeness is very confusing to Michael, particularly when he has never apologised for anything.

However, at the sound of your voice, Michael turns from the window to face you. He does not move closer, and he does not say anything. But he does stare at the glass of water, placed on the bedside table. His masked head tilts. A question, or an instruction, you can't be sure.

"O-Oh, uh...thank you." You realise this strange, silent man was considerate enough to give you a place to stay and water to drink, and the acknowledgement that you can feel you are still fully clothed beneath the bedcovers in a Halloween costume that is particularly difficult to remove is reassuring you that you weren't taken advantage of last night, either.

With that in mind, you take the glass of water in your hands and begin drinking down its contents like an animal dying of thirst. Only when you place the empty glass back on the bedside table, does Michael's tilted head straighten. And then, he starts walking out of the room.

"Wait!" You call out, but you can already hear his heavy footsteps thudding down the stairs.

Scrambling unsteadily out of bed, you attempt to run after him, but by the time you collapse on weak legs at the top of the stairs, Michael is standing at the bottom of them. Hearing you fall to the ground, Michael turns back to you. Staring up at you from the foot of the stairs. A crumpled mess again, this time in his home.

Lacking any sense of urgency, Michael ascends the staircase. Swings you over his shoulder. Drops you back in bed. And proceeds to stare down at you. It isn't until that moment you realise just how much admonishment two black eyeholes are capable of conveying in a single look. At this distance, you can see dried blood on Michael's hands. Staining his boiler suit. Your eyes widen.

"I...Whose blood is that..." You dare to wonder aloud.

Michael hears your question, but understands that what you are really asking is whether the blood on his hands is yours. Without warning, Michael grabs the bedcovers and pulls them off of your body, allowing you to look down at yourself, your Halloween costume - to see that you are not bleeding, or injured, and that the only blood on you is courtesy of Michael's handprints when he had carried you last night. While that's certainly an unconventional means of answering your question, he has at least partially answered it.

"Is it your blood?" Is the obvious followup query you present your saviour/kidnapper-who-may-or-may-not-have-seriously-harmed-someone.

Michael stares down at you. Towering over you, where he stands at the side of the bed. Nothing about his body language changes; he could nod or shake his head to communicate his response, but he doesn't. He just stares. And something in his stare almost makes you feel embarrassed for asking whether the blood staining his hands and clothes is his own. If Michael did answer you with words, he would tell you that he has no way of knowing exactly whose blood it is. That answer would not provide you much in the way of comfort.

The look in his empty eyes prompts you to avoid his gaze, lowering your head.

"Thank you for bringing me here- I don't know what happened to me last night. I was at this Halloween party, and I remember a guy buying me a drink, and I was standing at the bar, then..." You trail off, frowning to yourself as you realise just how little of the previous night you can recount. Typically, even after getting blackout drunk, you can remember more of a night than your first drink, but you've lost everything. You don't even recall having more than one drink.

Despite his general lack of awareness for social events, Michael is putting the pieces together faster than you. A man gave you a drink and then you remember nothing - something was in the drink. That seems obvious to Michael; a predator's instinct, you were given something to weaken you, physically and mentally, cloud your mind and render you incapable of fighting back. Michael can't understand the appeal of such a thing. Lends itself to a weak and pathetic predator, he would argue, but then again when Michael targets someone, they don't tend to live long enough to try and remember him. That said, Michael does take interest in your words. From the moment you mention "a guy", his masked head has tilted. That gesture is not a question, but a demand for more information.

What guy.

"I don't know, I'd never seen him before. He was dressed as the Joker, though- green wig and a purple suit." Your eyes are widening the more you describe the man, the realisation hitting you that the creep had clearly put something in your drink with the intention of doing God-knows-what to you once it kicked in.

Without another word from you, Michael leaves the room. This time, you don't bother trying to follow him. You hear the front door close behind him, and you sigh. Thankfully, on adjusting your sitting position in bed, you feel your phone digging into your back. A quick check of your location answers your question of where you are, and you're relieved to find you're not far from the friends’ house you were meant to stay at after the party. Said friend has already texted and called a dozen times, wondering if you are alive/got arrested with a bunch of the others; you text back to say you're fine, not dead, and not arrested.

The same cannot be said for the green-wigged, purple-suited man that spiked your drink last night, because he most certainly was amongst those that were arrested. And unlike the rest of them, that man will not leave his cell alive.

An hour or so later, the front door opens and closes again, followed by thudding footsteps up the stairs, until Michael fills the bedroom doorway once more. He approaches you steadily, one fist clenched. Standing beside the bed, Michael holds his fist out over your lap and uncurls his fingers. A silk necktie that is so soaked in blood you can no longer distinguish the original color of the fabric, lands on your thighs.

While you sit there, horrified and in a state of shock, staring down at the bloody tie, Michael turns and leaves the room again. His footsteps match the pounding of your own heart, ringing in your ears. The front door opens, but you do not hear him close it this time, and you understand that to be an offer of your freedom: you can stay or go, Michael is indifferent. But it is dawning on you that this silent stranger saved your life. Not only that, he avenged the trauma inflicted upon you, and saved however many others that man might have assaulted after you. So, with a newly warped sense of right and wrong, you text your friend to come and pick you up, then leave your phone on the bedside table, next to the empty glass. Gathering yourself as best you can, you very slowly get out of bed and make your way down the stairs, out of the open front door and onto the street. Within minutes, your friend is picking you up and you're recounting the most bizarre series of events with a smile on your face that you can hardly believe is there, the morning after getting spiked. Much to your friend's surprise, you don't ask her to drive you to your home or hers; you ask her to drop you at the nearest tech store.

By the time you are curled up in your own bed - having been checked over by a doctor and prescribed some painkillers and nausea tablets that won't react badly with the drugs you took without your consent - showered and cozy in your own pyjamas and recovering from the weirdest party experience of your life, your thoughts are still on the silent stranger. The shape. You made the executive decision to tell your friend you'd broken your phone at the party and it just managed to text her before it died, so you'd dropped it in the trash; neglecting to tell her the real reason you decided to purchase a new phone, on purpose.

There is a ding. Upstairs. A sound Michael has never heard in his own home. He follows the noise with a pace that does not accurately relay the extent of his curiosity. It leads him back into the bedroom, where he can see you made the bed before you left; politeness that he, again, does not understand. But the gesture is a reminder of your presence and for that, Michael feels...contented. A curious device sits on the bedside table that he did not place with the glass of water. Picking up the phone, the screen automatically lights up, showing a message from an unknown number.

You stare down at the text you have sent from your new phone, your heart pounding with a mixture of exhilaration and anxiety. Then, you get your answer.

And for the first time in human history, someone was satisfied by being left on read.

[plushiesssforcrying]

Bluebells.

୨୧ chapters ┊ memories. / nightfall.

୨୧ character ┊ telemachus.

୨୧ pronouns ┊ she / her.

୨୧ contents ┊ day 3. telemachus fucks up. reader fucks up too. miscommunication? kinda reasonable tho LOL. not beta read, we die. angst if you squint? they have no established relationship but they're fucked up basically.

The wind bent to the slash of the blade as a young prince swung it with precision. Sweat dripped off his face as he kept moving and attacking an invisible target, the wind in the open courtyard of the palace effectively cooling him down.

“Once more.” A stern feminine voice demanded when the prince lowered his sword. He sighed in retaliation, making her gaze sharpen.

“Can we take a brief moment?” He asked her in a winded manner, “I fear my arms might fall off if I continue…”

She opened her mouth to deny him before she stopped herself, her gaze seemed to stray off— an unusual look on the goddess of wisdom. Telemachus raised a brow, confused by her hesitance. After a short moment, she nodded.

“Yes, go ahead.”

A smile broke out on his face, stepping away to rest against a tree. Athena followed not shortly after, glancing at him as he wiped the excess sweat off his face. Telemachus hadn't told his mentor about the woman he met, figuring it was nothing to note.

After all, some people are just a bit… odd. It was nothing he should be alarmed of, he thought to himself. Telemachus stared at the grass below him, picking at individual blades as his eyes were unfocused, unblinking. His breaths stayed slow and composed as he stayed lost in his thoughts, something the goddess quickly snapped him out of.

“Telemachus, are you listening?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Uh, great idea.” He muttered absentmindedly.

“Really? Because I've yet to say anything.” Telemachus blinked at Athena’s claim before groaning, realizing he walked right into her trap. He leaned his head back against the tree with closed eyes, his hands still quietly fiddling with the grass below him.

He debated rather quickly in his head whether he should tell her or not but it'd be best if she did, she'd know better after all. He opened his mouth to speak, but the armored goddess beat him to it.

“Something clouds your mind, Telemachus.” She more so stated rather than asked. “Is this because of that strange woman you've met?”

“What? No! I mean, she's just an eccentric woman at the market, with scales on her skin, and— wait, you know?”

“Did you think you could keep something from the goddess of wisdom?” A response that made Telemachus groaned as he slumped further back against the tree, letting himself slide down into the grass.

Seeing his troubled expression, she decided to speak.

“You should use your head,” She started, “nothing comes with slowing down the inevitable.”

She gently pats the top of his head. “If you seek answers from her, you should find a way to get it. By all means necessary.”

With that, the goddess bid her farewell in a hurry— with firm reassurance that she will return again, something he noticed she does very often.

Telemachus mused about it quietly. He knew that he should consider her words carefully, considering a goddess had just bestowed her wisdom to him. Although, he had a bad gut feeling if he did.

He sighed after a while, nothing comes with doubt and hesitance, he thought to himself. He picked himself up from the ground, once more in hopes to find the dangerously alluring shopkeeper.

Birds chirp overhead the prince as his shoes left a trail of temporary indents in the grass. His dual coloured eyes followed the noise instinctively, assuming that it perched not too long after the sound of flapping wings went absent.

He continued further, some leaves and fallen twigs crunching under the sole of his shoes. He reached the familiar opening in the forest after a short while, hoping to see the woman yet to be named.

It didn't take long for him to set his eyes on a figure, except he didn't quite recognize it. With a discarded cloak beside her, a woman sat elegantly on a rock.

Her face obscured by her hair, she lowered a leg towards the water of the lake—stopping just as her feet hit the top of the water, leaving a ripple in her wake.

Telemachus watched with fascination, and caution. His eyes narrowed on her body, brows furrowed as he tried to make out the spots decorating her skin.

He took a step forward and unknowingly crushed a stick, a sound that seemed to startle the woman as she quickly shielded herself with her cloak once more.

Seeing her in the familiar cloak, he finally recognized that it was the shopkeeper he had been searching for.

He couldn't help but simply blink at the sight, her back faced him as she stood upright on the rock. His gaze narrows at her, he was sure he wasn't mistaken this time.

She had scales on her skin.

He thought he was only imagining it the last time they met. It wasn't a logical idea after all, why would she have scales on her skin? What would that make her?

He's read of many creatures that have scales, dangerous or not. Is she dangerous too?

The prince was too caught up in his thoughts to realize the woman had came down and faced him with a stiff smile.

“I wasn't expecting you here, prince Telemachus.” She spoke, as if she was trying to lighten up a mood that was yet to be present.

He blinked in response, “I… couldn't find you at the market, so I figured you would be here.” He spoke slowly, watching her obscured face closely.

“You were searching for me specifically?” Her teasing tone returned.

“Careful, young prince, if I didn't know any better.. I would've thought you were here to court me.” She laughed all too familiarly, the usual mocking demeanour becoming apparent in her behaviour once more.

He couldn't help but be affected by her words. Despite knowing that she was only joking, the thought never quite crossed his mind at any point in time.

So much so that he was more embarrassed that he had little to no idea about the topic and would rather not think about it now of all time.

His gaze followed the woman walking behind the rock she was previously on.

“Yes, well, a shame that's not the case.” He played along halfheartedly, trailing behind her. He watched her crouched down and rummaged into a bag, taking out an assortment of colourful flowers that was neatly put together into a bouquet.

“What is it that you seek from me, Telemachus?” She asked, her focus still on the deadly beauty she had arranged herself.

The noble didn't respond right away. Instead, carefully regarding the way she handled the vivid flowers from afar.

The way the tip of fingers brush against the leaves, avoiding the thorns that she had yet to remove from a few of them. A soft glisten of light on her cheek catches his eye, barely visible under her hood.

Expectantly, she looked up at him again— awaiting an answer to her curiosity. Meanwhile, he was trying to find an answer to his own. One that would satisfy him without the need to cross the River Styx.

He bit his lip, his eyes holding emotions indecipherable as it watched how she stood up with a rather sluggish manner. A sign that she was comfortable, no doubt.

As she opened her mouth to question him again, he caught sight of her undeniably sharp teeth.

“Are you... a gorgon..?” He asked unceremoniously.

The woman’s smile slowly dropped, a moment of silence passing by them.

The man recalled their past meetings— the way that he had never seen her eyes, her inhuman strength, her appearance, the strange aura she emits whenever they would interact. It was a wild guess, but one that he spoke with confidence, more so as a means of intimidation than genuine certainty.

The woman, on the other hand, stayed silent. The only noise that could be heard was the rushing waters, a silence so deafening that Telemachus was sure he could hear his heartbeat drum in his own ears as he gripped the hilt of his sword in one hand.

“And what if I am, princey?” Her voice flat and monotonously answered.

She tilted her head, feigning curiosity as she stepped closer. Her movement was deliberately slow and steady but not cautious as Telemachus observed.

On instinct, the prince drew his sword. He took a sharp inhale, his eyes darting to her feet as he avoided staring into her eyes. She said nothing and only took another step closer which he gritted his teeth and tightened the grip on his sword.

“Stay back! I'm.. I'm warning you—!”

“Or what? you'll fight me?” Her tone was snarky and mocking. Continuing to taunt him, she stepped closer.

“I'd love to see you try—”

In a heap of panic, Telemachus swung his blade upright with closed eyes. The woman yelped, her outstretched hand quickly retracted back to her side as crimson red liquid dripped down her arm. She hissed, trying to subside the pain while the prince could only watch the blood pool by her feet and seep into the grass.

The prince could see in the corner of his eyes how the woman's hand twitched in irritation, her breathing slowly grew heavier. The cut he had made on her arm wasn't too deep, but it definitely stretched longer than he expected. The gash began from her forearm before she swerved to the right, narrowly avoiding her wrist and vital point.

She staggered in her steps, putting needed distance between them as her heartbeat quickened. Telemachus couldn't help but stare as the glow of her eyes intensified by the second, he had just hurt a monster.

This is what he always asked for, wasn't it? To hunt and fight monsters. To see if he could find his father once and for all at the end of the battle. Perhaps this was the battle he was looking for. Maybe, just maybe, his father will return from the death of this beast.

But why is it that now as he stares into the injured form of who he thought was a regular shopkeeper, does he only stare? His brows furrowed, his mind only focused on how monstrous her appearance was.

When the prince took a cautious step forward, she flinched and took multiple steps back. Her form was hunched, squeezing her forearm for dear life—she looked like a wild animal at this moment, no longer the composed and sophisticated young woman he'd met before.

Without another word, she turned and fled into the forest, her cloak swirling behind her. Telemachus stood there, as if his feet were rooted to the ground. For some reason, he felt as if the air in his lungs were taken away from him.

Perhaps it was from adrenaline, or maybe something else churning deep in his chest?

Whatever it was, he snapped himself out of it quickly— remembering that there was a gorgon on the loose in the forest.

He stared at the deep red blood that dripped off the tip of his sword with a flickering gaze. He tightened his lips together, sheathing the weapon once more as he swiftly made his way onto the path out the forest.

He doesn't wanna cause a panic or riot, not when the suitors run rampage in his home. If he has to deal with this monster himself then so be it.

sorry this was late, i was missing a whole middle scene in this LMFAOO. also yes, reader only appears for a short time, I KNOW.

next mini chapter is reader centric and after we knew reader's whole deal, then i can start writing her pov shh.

taglist; @lin-elizabeth @theyumeeighth

[freaky-deaky-cookies]

Hi can I make a request I totally understand if you don’t want to write about this. I wasn’t sure if you take angst request like this so im sorry if I’ve sent this and you dont take requests like this. My request is for bg3 companions with a tav who is kind of a shell of a person. Like a demon could take their soul and they would fine with because they see no use for it. They just sort of go through life and are just waiting for their death. This is due to their tragic backstory that I won’t go into detail about but there is themes of repeated sa involved (you don’t have to mention this if you don’t feel comfortable) this request is based off of my oc which I hold very close to my heart and really just looking for some comfort right now. Like I said tho if this isn’t something you are comfortable with I completely understand.

BG3 Companions x Tav who is an empty shell (Comfort HCs)

Gale

Gale is a lot more perceptive than he appears to be

He notices the void of sadness behind Tav’s eyes

If Gale felt a genuine concern for Tav, he would ask to speak to them in private

When he approached them, he would not demand attention. Instead, he’d sit quietly beside them, offering only the weight of his presence. He wouldn’t try to fix them, but simply be there, sharing the silent knowledge that sometimes, just being was enough.

Wyll

Wyll would approach the situation quietly and calmly

He wants to ensure Tav knows that he – and the others – are a safe place for them to feel whatever they need to 

Offers a listening ear and only comments if asked

“I know what it feels like to think you’ve lost it all,” he’d begin, his gaze gentle. “But I want you to know something. You don’t have to carry this alone. You have people here who care. And that’s worth something, even when it feels like it isn’t.”

Astarion

He understands, he really and truly does

He himself has been there hell, he is still trying to dig his own way out of the void

Astarion was not a man accustomed to offering comfort. He was far more at ease with sharp words and cynical humor than with gentle reassurances. But with Tav, it was different. When he saw the emptiness in their eyes, he felt an instinct he couldn’t ignore—a tenderness that surprised him, even though he would never admit it aloud.

“You know," he’d start, his voice unusually soft, "you’re not as invisible as you think. I see you. I know what it feels like to be hollow—nothing left but the shell of a person. But you’re still here. Still standing. And that counts for something."

Lae’zel

Comfort is not her strong suit, like at all

While she may not take the most gentle approach, she respect Tav like no other and does not with to bring them any unwanted harm

She didn’t have the words to soothe the soul, but she had something she could give: strength. Her voice would be sharp, but it was clear she was trying to reach through to them, to remind them of the warrior they had the potential to be.

She wouldn’t coddle Tav, but her presence would be one of unwavering support.

Halsin

(I believe he would be the best to go to when faced with anything troubling)

His own heart breaks at the sight of someone he holds dear in so much pain

While Tav does not show it, he knows them well enough to see through that facade

“You are not beyond healing, Tav,” he’d say, his voice like the rustle of leaves in the wind. “It may not be quick, and it may not be easy, but you can grow from this. And I’ll be here to help you, however long it takes.”

Shadowheart

Shadowheart understood loss in a way that few could. Having sacrificed so much in the name of her faith, she had learned the deep ache of feeling lost and broken, even as she clung to hope. When she saw Tav, something in her recognized the emptiness—the hollow look in their eyes that mirrored the darkness she had once lived in.

Shadowheart would not push Tav to speak, but she would stay close.

Jaheira

Jaheira wouldn’t offer empty platitudes or tell them to ‘snap out of it.’ Instead, her words would be measured, rooted in the kind of wisdom that comes only with age and experience.

Jaheira wouldn’t rush toward Tav or overwhelm them with too many words. Instead, she’d give them space but remain near enough to show she was there, a steady presence in the quiet of the camp. Her approach would be measured, as she always was, and her tone would be gentle, but there would be no hiding the firmness of her resolve.

Mithara

When she saw Tav—someone who had already resigned themselves to the idea of being worthless, someone who had already given up on their own soul—it hit Minthara harder than she would admit. It was a reminder of the darkness she had lived in and the toll it took.

“I won’t pretend I have the answers. And I won’t ask you to simply believe in something when you don’t,” Minthara would say, her voice tinged with the knowledge of her own mistakes. “But I can tell you this: You don’t have to walk through it alone. If you want me to stay, I will. If you want silence, I can give you that too. I am here.”

She would stay by their side, offering her presence more than anything. It wasn’t a grand gesture, and it wasn’t about trying to force Tav to snap out of it or seek some grand redemption.

Karlach

"Hey," she’d say, sitting down beside Tav and offering her broad, calloused hand. "You’re not in this alone, alright? I’ve been to places where I didn’t think I’d make it through. But I did. And I don’t care how long it takes. You’re going to make it too. You don’t have to be alone in this. Not while I’m around."

Her words would be warm, her fire like a shield around them. She’d hold Tav’s hand and, even if they didn’t respond, she wouldn’t leave. Her presence was a quiet promise that they didn’t need to do this by themselves.

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

reactions to asking to try a juno pose with them😩😩 (squid game boys preferably !! up to u tho completely tho i love ur writing x)

I might let you make me 'juno'

Characters: Thanos, Namgyu, Gyeong-Seok, Young-Il, Gi-hun, Dae-Ho, Min-Su, Sang-Woo, Salesman

Summary: Its above✨️✨️

Warnings: Explicit, Suggestive, MDNI

Thanos

You were half-naked, tangled up in bedsheets and laughter, scrolling through Instagram on your phone while Su-Bong rested beside you—shirtless, warm, and still slightly breathless from earlier kisses.

“Wait,” you said suddenly, your voice playful. “Have you ever seen this pose?”

Su-Bong glanced over lazily. “What pose?”

You angled the screen toward him: Sabrina Carpenter, sprawled across a vintage-looking couch, her hips tilted just right, head thrown back, lips parted like a secret. It was confident, daring, sexy as hell.

“It’s a Juno position,” you explained, smirking. “Fans call it that. Kind of like… seductive chaos.”

Su-Bong blinked. “Seductive chaos?”

“Yeah,” you grinned. “I want to try something like that—with you. In bed. Wanna be my Sabrina?”

His ears went red instantly. “Me?” he scoffed, laughing. “Yah, I don't look like her at all.”

You leaned in, tracing a finger down his chest. “I don’t want Sabrina. I want you in that position. Just… messy, open, letting me take control.”

That shut him up. His breath hitched slightly.“Oh.”

“You okay?” you teased, tilting your head. “Too shy?”

He swallowed, then shook his head slowly. “No. Just—surprised. I mean… if it’s you…”

Minutes later, you had him exactly where you wanted him: back arched ever so slightly, legs spread in a way that mimicked the pose, arms thrown over his head as he let out a nervous laugh.

“I feel ridiculous,” he murmured.“You look insane,” you whispered, crawling over him. “In the hottest way. Trust me.”

The moment your mouth met his, his hesitation melted. Your hands gripped his thighs, coaxing him into relaxing, into giving in. He tried to hold eye contact, but the pleasure hit him hard and fast as your body aligned with his, and all he could do was moan softly and cling to the sheets.

“I—shit,” he breathed. “You're really doing this…”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw. “You said you’d try it.”

He chuckled, flushed and breathless. “I didn’t think it’d feel this good.”

“Well,” you whispered, lips at his ear, “Sabrina might’ve made it look pretty—but you make it feel filthy.”

Su-Bong groaned, hands finally finding your hips. “God, I love you.”

“Love you too,” you said, smiling. “Even when you’re my muse.”

Namgyu

You were curled up next to Nam-Gyu on the couch, legs tangled under a blanket, when the idea first popped into your head.

"Okay, don't laugh," you warned, already smiling.

He raised a brow, eyes still half on the movie, half on you. "That’s exactly what someone says before saying something worth laughing at."

You rolled your eyes. "Do you know what a Juno position is?"

Nam-Gyu blinked. "Like... the movie? With the pregnant girl?"

You laughed. "No! It's—okay, it's kind of a pose Sabrina Carpenter does. Kind of sexy. Like, performance-y, but I saw someone say it would work during sex and now I can’t stop thinking about it."

That caught his attention.Nam-Gyu turned toward you fully, blanket sliding down his bare shoulder. “Wait… you want me to do it? Or you?”

“You. Just once. For science.”

His eyes narrowed. “You want me to do a pop princess sex pose in bed?”

You grinned. “Yes.”

He stared at you for a beat longer… then tossed the blanket aside and stood dramatically. “Fine. Show me.”

***

That night, with your thighs hooked over his hips and his hair already a mess, you couldn’t help giggling when he paused, adjusting his body into the pose you’d described.

One leg tucked awkwardly under him, one arm supporting his weight behind him, chin slightly tilted. The full Juno. Or, well, his version of it.

“You look like you’re posing for a scandalous Rolling Stone cover.”

He smirked. “You said Sabrina, right? I’m giving you Sabrina.”

“Nam-Gyu,” you said breathlessly, “you’re ridiculous.”

But God—you loved it. The way he kept a straight face, even as he slowly leaned back into you, still holding the pose while rolling his hips in the most ungodly rhythm.

"Is this scientific enough for you?" he murmured, voice low and smug.You barely managed a nod.

Later, when you were sprawled across the sheets, catching your breath, he turned and grinned.

“So… what’s next? Taylor Swift positions?”

You threw a pillow at him.

Gyeong-Seok

It started with a TikTok. You were half-lounging on the couch, phone in one hand, your other hand tracing idle patterns on Gyeong-Seok’s thigh as he sat beside you. The video played on loop—Sabrina Carpenter striking that pose on stage: bent knees, thighs parted, one arm draped over her head, hips tilted just right. It was confident. Shameless. Hot.

“You should try this with me,” you said, biting your lip as you turned your phone to him.

He blinked at the screen, then at you. “What… pose is that?”

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “It’s called a Juno position. I think you’d like it.”

Gyeong-Seok gave a soft laugh, but his eyes had that familiar flicker—the one that meant you had his full attention now. “You want me to do that?” he asked, voice low.

“No,” you said, pushing the phone aside and climbing into his lap. “I want to do it with you.”

It didn’t take long before the room shifted. Clothes half-peeled, heat rising between bodies, and him pressing you down against the mattress. His mouth found your throat, your shoulder, your lips—until you were gasping into his skin.

“Show me,” he murmured, hovering over you, his breath thick and warm.

You pulled him down by the waistband of his sweats. “You first.”

He raised a brow but didn’t argue. He leaned back, propped on one elbow, one leg bent slightly open, head tilted back just enough to let his jawline catch the shadows. His torso flexed naturally, a glimmer of tension in his abs as he held the pose—cool, confident, effortlessly sinful.

Your breath hitched. “Okay, yeah. That’s illegal.”

He smirked. “Like this?”

You didn’t answer. You climbed on top of him instead.

The Juno pose melted into something else—your hips grinding slowly as he held you by the waist, your hands buried in his hair, lips brushing over his in teasing passes. He let you take control, for a moment, just to see what you’d do with it. And you didn’t disappoint.

You rocked into him, low and slow, like you had all the time in the world. Your bodies tangled in messy rhythm, breath and sweat and whispers building between every kiss. When he finally flipped you over and pressed himself into you, his voice dropped like velvet:

“Next time you show me something like that… you’d better be ready to finish what you started.”

And oh—you were.

Young il

Young-Il and you had just finished a long day of work. The night air was cool, the lights in your apartment soft, and the atmosphere cozy. You two had been watching random videos online, laughing at memes and TikToks, when you came across one of Sabrina Carpenter’s viral moments—her posing in that iconic, sultry way. The way she tilted her head, the subtle shift of her body—it looked almost like an art form.

"Look at this," you said, pausing the video and showing it to Young-Il, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "I think I could do that."

He raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "What, like the pose?" he asked, intrigued but clearly not understanding the full scope of what you were suggesting.

You bit your lip, watching him carefully. "Not just the pose... but the position." Your voice dropped a little lower, a playful challenge hanging between you.

He glanced at the screen again, and his eyes widened slightly as he processed what you were implying. You could see the shift in his expression, that mix of curiosity and amusement as he looked back at you.

"You want me to try it?" he asked, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile. "Right now?"

You nodded, leaning forward, your voice a little more teasing than before. "What do you think? Think you're up for the challenge?"

His eyes twinkled with the promise of fun as he stood up, his movements smooth and confident. He took a step toward you, the tension between you two rising, yet there was a softness in his gaze. "I think you're the one who’s going to have to show me how it’s done," he said, his tone playful but suggestive.

You smiled, sliding off the couch and walking toward him. The playful challenge had turned into a shared moment of connection, your laughter filling the room before the air between you two thickened with anticipation. "You might need to take notes," you teased, your hands trailing lightly over his chest.

As the night unfolded, the two of you spent more time experimenting with poses and laughs than anything else, but it was the connection, the shared playfulness, that made the moment memorable. It wasn't about getting everything perfect—it was about having fun and letting the mood take you wherever it went.

Gi hun

You were curled up on the couch with Gi-Hun, flipping through TikTok on your phone while he absentmindedly stroked your arm. He wasn’t paying too much attention until you stopped scrolling and let out a soft, intrigued "Hmm..."

He leaned over, squinting at your screen. “What is that?”

“Sabrina Carpenter,” you said, eyes still locked on the video. “And that’s what the internet calls a ‘Juno pose.’”

Gi-Hun blinked. “A what pose?”

You glanced at him with a sly smile. “It’s like... a pose. Very dramatic. Kind of sexy. People say it’s a position too... in bed.”

His eyebrows raised, interest piqued. “Really now?”

You nodded slowly, setting your phone down and climbing onto his lap, your arms draping around his neck. “Wanna try it? For research, obviously.”

Gi-Hun laughed, hands finding your waist. “Oh, this is scientific now? Should I be taking notes?”

“I think a hands-on demonstration would be more effective,” you whispered against his ear.He chuckled again, his fingers tightening ever so slightly. “Alright, professor. Show me how this works.”

You shifted slightly, mimicking the pose from the video—your body angled just right, a teasing tilt to your head, the perfect mix of sultry and effortless. Gi-Hun watched with growing fascination, his hands now sliding slowly over your back.

“I think I’m starting to understand the appeal,” he murmured.

“Yeah?” you grinned, tilting your head just so. “Wanna see how far we can take it?”

Gi-Hun’s grin turned wicked, his voice low and rough. “Oh, I plan on studying every angle.”-

Dae ho

You and Dae-Ho had spent the evening winding down together—candles lit, snacks half-eaten on the coffee table, your playlist humming in the background. He was stretched out beside you, warm and relaxed, when you suddenly lit up and grabbed your phone.

“Okay, wait. You have to see this,” you said, pulling up a clip of Sabrina Carpenter striking her now-famous Juno pose during a performance.

Dae-Ho blinked at the screen, a little confused. “Is she... okay?” he asked sincerely.

You snorted. “Yes, babe. She’s posing. It’s called a Juno position.”

He tilted his head. “Like... for photos?”

You bit your lip, eyes twinkling. “Well... people also say it’s a sex position now.”

His cheeks flushed instantly, and he cleared his throat, glancing sideways at you. “Oh.” He paused. “Do you… want to try it?”

You gave a wicked grin and leaned in closer. “I mean, don’t you want to see how flexible I am?”

That did him in. Dae-Ho’s face turned even redder, but he let out a soft laugh and sat up straighter, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. “Y-Yeah. I mean—only if you want to. Like, um... no pressure. But I’m curious. For, you know... science.”

“Science, huh?” you teased, already shifting your position to mimic the sultry sprawl from the video. Dae-Ho’s gaze followed you slowly, his eyes wide, lips parting slightly as he took it all in.

You caught his stare. “You’re thinking way too hard.”

“I’m trying to focus!” he defended, his voice higher than usual.

You slid closer, your voice dropping low. “Then stop thinking and start doing.”

He swallowed hard, but the spark in his eyes said he was more than willing to rise to the occasion.

And that night, shy curiosity turned into breathless laughter, tangled limbs, and Dae-Ho whispering, “I had no idea ‘Juno’ meant that… but I think I’m a fan.”

Min su

You were sprawled on your bed with Min-Su, both of you in sweats, legs tangled under the blankets as some random drama played in the background. He was holding your hand, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your palm—soft, slow, content.

Until you broke the silence with a cheeky: “Hey… have you ever heard of a ‘Juno position’?”

He blinked slowly. “Juno? Like the movie?”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. “Not exactly. It’s a pose. Kind of dramatic. Kind of sexy. Sabrina Carpenter does it on stage a lot, and people started calling it that online.”

Min-Su’s eyes darted away immediately, his ears turning a soft shade of red. “Oh. Uh… like a dance move?”

You grinned. “Not quite. People have started calling it a bedroom position too.”

He froze. “…Ah.”

You watched the color climb all the way to his cheeks. He was silent for a second longer before mumbling, “Should I… Google it?”

You laughed and rolled on top of him before he could reach for his phone. “Nope. I’ll show you.”

His eyes widened, but he let out a nervous chuckle as you slowly demonstrated the sultry sprawl—arched in just the right way, your expression teasing, your voice soft when you asked, “So? What do you think?”

Min-Su swallowed hard. “I think… I’m going to forget how to speak.”

You leaned closer, nose brushing his. “Want to try it with me?”

He nodded, nearly breathless, still blushing but now clearly on board. “Only if you don’t make fun of me.”

“I’d never,” you whispered, already guiding his hands. “But if you get shy, I’ll just kiss it better.”

Min-Su’s soft laugh melted into something deeper, his fingers lacing with yours as the teasing turned tender, and your playful experiment became something slow, sweet, and unforgettable.

Sang woo

You were lounging in Sang-Woo’s apartment—modern, clean, with everything in its right place, just like him. He was sitting across from you in a chair, one leg crossed, sleeves rolled up, flipping through some work papers. He hadn’t said much in the last ten minutes, but you could feel his eyes flicking to you now and then.

You were scrolling through TikTok when something caught your eye.

You smirked.“Have you heard of the Juno position?” you asked casually, looking up at him.Sang-Woo glanced over the edge of his glasses. “No. Should I have?"

You turned your screen toward him, showing a video of Sabrina Carpenter in that iconic pose—arched, dramatic, practically dripping in innuendo.His brows lifted slightly. “That’s what the internet’s calling a position now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Some people say it’s just a pose. Others say it’s... a whole experience.”

He leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on you, like he was reading between every line of what you weren’t saying.“

And you’re telling me this because...?”You stood slowly, moving toward him, your tone light but layered with suggestion. “I thought maybe we could try it.”

He let out a breath of a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes—those were sharp, calculating, and very much awake now. “You’re playing with fire.”

You straddled his lap, settling in close, not breaking eye contact. “Maybe I want to get burned.”

He exhaled through his nose, hands still resting tensely on the armrests, like he was holding back. “You know I’m twice your age.”

“Which means you’ve had twice as long to think about things like this.”

That broke something in him. He looked up at you, jaw clenched, the muscle twitching like he was doing the math—whether this was a good idea, a terrible one, or something he’d been fantasizing about for weeks.

He finally spoke, voice low. “Show me the pose again.”

You smirked, adjusting your body to mimic it—slow, deliberate, letting your fingers trail over his tie.

Sang-Woo’s hands finally left the armrests, finding your hips as he breathed, “If we do this… I’m not stopping halfway.”

You leaned down, lips just brushing his. “Did I ask you to stop?”

Salesman

You were draped across the Salesman’s expensive hotel sheets, legs crossed, flipping through your phone while he slipped off his cufflinks with practiced ease. He was freshly showered, shirt slightly unbuttoned, and carrying the kind of calm that always made you nervous—in the best way.

“See something interesting?” he asked without looking, voice like silk and smoke.

You smirked. “Actually… yeah. Ever heard of the ‘Juno position’?”

He paused, eyes sliding toward you. “Should I have?”

You sat up slowly, showing him the screen—Sabrina Carpenter’s iconic pose mid-performance, all artful arch and intensity.

“They say it’s become a… position. Not just a pose.”He walked over, glancing at the screen. “Mm.” A slow, knowing smile spread across his lips. “Looks like something designed to drive someone insane.”

You tilted your head, eyes playful. “Wanna try it?”

He chuckled low in his throat, stepping closer. “Are you offering to demonstrate?”

You didn’t respond with words—you simply shifted your body on the bed, mimicking the dramatic sprawl of the Juno pose. Your back arched just enough, legs arranged like you knew exactly what you were doing.

He watched you for a long, heavy second. Then:

“I’m going to be honest,” he said, undoing another button. “You’re playing a very dangerous game.”

“Danger’s half the fun,” you whispered.He leaned down slowly, caging you in with a hand beside your head, lips just brushing yours. “No—I’m the dangerous part. And if you keep looking at me like that, sweetheart...”

His voice dropped to a growl.

“…You’re not getting any sleep tonight.”

[candytoothed]

𐔌　the perks of being a wallflower - d.w ₊˚ ♡

CHAPTER TWO - a friend of ours

summary: you’ve always been better at observing than participating, the quiet one in the corner, taking mental notes no one asks for. and that was fine, it was enough. but for once in your life, you didn't shy away from something you wanted, and suddenly you’re swept into a series of late-night diner runs, basement mixtapes, and conversations from your best friend that make your chest ache. you started to feel things. things you never thought you would get to.

notes: dean winchester x reader, normal au (mary is still dead tho um!), dean and sam are closer in age, alcohol consumption, edible consumption, best friends to lovers, kinda slow burn (starts in beginning of high school - ends in college), reader has social anxiety, suicide attempts (not in detail), SA mentions (not in detail), mention of familial loss. please let me know if i missed any!

word count: 3.6k (LMAO I DIDNT MEAN TO)

˚○ ୨୧ series masterlist main masterlist navi

that night buzzed with the kind of energy that sat between anxiety and something giddy. the diner booth was small, the table sticky with years of spilled milkshakes and teenage secrets, but it was perfect. sam and dean were loud, messy, and impossible to look away from, leaving you to spend over an hour with them.

you debated on telling your family about your new friends when you got home. would it even matter? would either of them want to talk to you again? maybe they were just bored. so you kept it to yourself, telling your mom you were late home because of how long the game went.

you didn’t expect to see them again so soon, and at homecoming at that! you didn’t even think they’d want to go, you assumed dean would think it was just a stupid, corny “mating ritual”.

you lean against a wall, red solo cup in hand, trying to blend into the brick, watching couples dance and enjoy their night as disco balls spin shadows across the gym. your eyes flicker all over, scanning for the brothers unconsciously. that’s when you see them.

dean lazily sways to a slow song with some cute girl clinging to his arm, his hands settled low on her waist. sam was nearby, moving with exaggerated flourishes as he danced by himself like no one was watching, which they probably weren’t— well, except for you, of course, grinning widely at his whimsy antics. 

then the music shifts, the syrupy slow ballad fading into something faster, something with life. 

you can see dean freeze on the floor, dropping his arms from his date’s waist and snapping to sam with surprise in his wide eyes. he slaps his brother’s shoulder, exclaiming, “ohmygod, they’re playing good music.” 

sam whips around to face the dj booth, a grin blooming across his lips. “holy shit, they are! they’re playing good music.” he repeats in a lower murmur, able to recognize the voice of david bowie anywhere.

“living room routine, now.” dean orders, snapping his fingers and leaving his date very confused as the two start to push their way to the middle of the gym floor. 

“wait, do we have to go right in the middle-” sam awkwardly starts to protest.

“dude, shut up.” dean cuts him off with a bark. “you made me come here, we’re doing this.” 

you blink, sipping your punch a little too quickly. suddenly, you find yourself starting to slightly bop to the music (in your own reserved way), your eyes squinting as they follow the boys to the center of the gymnasium. your lips part in surprise as they start to swing their arms back and forth, circling around each other with mock-serious expressions on their faces. you smile toothily, definitely not having expected that.

dean catches your gaze mid-spin, throwing you a silly smirk and winking your way as he dances, ignorant to the looks he’s attracting. 

you grin, waving to him meekly, but his eyes are already off you and enraptured in his own wild movements. the stiff crowd ogles the boys as they roll their shoulders back and spin around like idiots, but neither of them mind, and that just makes you grow even fonder of the pair.

you swallow at the thought. maybe it was kinda weird that your homecoming dance was centered around two older students you just met. maybe you should've gotten a date.

you take another awkward sip of your punch, trying to decide if you should go— oh nono, not this again.

you shake off your thoughts to put your solo cup down on the side somewhere, not even taking your eyes off the two boys as you try desperately not to make it seem like you’re dancing towards them, but you are, bobbing your head like a dork as you move.

dean cheers as you get closer, letting out a silly “whooo!” as he snatches your hand into his without warning, twirling you around and grinning while you let out a laugh. and all of a sudden, it’s like the world in your head you’ve been trapped in since you were six years old fades away as sam loosens his tie and loops it around your neck like a medal, inviting you to their special world of chaos. 

and for the second time in a little over 24 hours, you ventured out and got what you wanted.

later outside, when the cold is piercing your skin and the night wraps itself tighter, you walk with them through the rich part of town, streetlights buzzing above as you three shuffle up a stone path to some mansion party dean was invited to.

“god, it’s freezing!” he grunts, lips pursed as he shivers, shirtless under his suit jacket that was long gone... 

“no one told you to start stripping, casanova.” sam grins, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as you walk up the steps. he was warm. you remember when aunt helen used to wrap you up in her arms just the same.

“a-are you sure it’s okay that i come?” you ask meekly, looking up between them as you start to climb a staircase.

“yeah, course.” dean lazily nods, like it's obvious, as he struts up the stairs. “just remember, pete’s not paranoid— he’s sensitive.” he mocks with a small roll of his eyes, sticking out his tongue.

“DEAN!” a boy, who you assume to be peter, calls from the top of the steps, looking absolutely stoned as he greets us with a wobbly cup in his hand. “dude, that waitress from olive garden, she was such a tease.” he scoffs with a dazed smile plastered across his face as dean makes a playful boo-hoo face.

peter's eyes dart to your timid stance, and his beam widens. “will you marry me?” 

“nono,” dean snorts, waving him off. “you hopeless stoner— who attends the culinary institute.” he adds, shaking his head in exaggeration and clicking his teeth as pete winces in response, his hand on his heart dramatically. 

“nice try.” sam nods with a small smile, leading you inside. dean dashes in front of you both, walking down the steps to the basement like he owns the place. 

he turns around to you with a wiggle of his brows, holding his arm out wide. “so, this.. is a party.” 

you self-consciously step down into the basement and feel completely swallowed.

there’s music blasting as you enter the large room, stale beer and cigarette smoke in the air as you three start to walk through the array of people, the room packed with kids playing quarters, others pouring vodka into a watermelon.

“this is what fun looks like,” dean murmurs to you as he spots two of his friends sitting on a couch. “you ready to meet some desperate women? yeah you are, go have a seat.” 

you tuck a strand of hair (that wasn't even loose) behind your ear as you approach two girls around dean’s age, making your way to sit on the very edge of the couch with hunched shoulders.

“hey ladies,” dean purrs, leaning over the sofa cushions. he introduces the girls to you with a curt nod, you smiling as one of them takes your hand into hers to shake.

“mary elizabeth.” she says with a blank expression. “that’s alice.” she hums, nudging her head to the blonde next to her. 

“nice to meet you.” you smile lightly, hyper aware of the press of bodies, the sticky couch fabric, and the music pulsing through the floor. sam drops into the spot next to alice, sighing as he leans back into the cushions.

“this is her first party ever.” dean lets out a smug little hum, one brow teasingly quirking. the girls let out a little gasps as he swishes his beer around with playful nods. “so i expect lovely, heartfelt, soul-changing orgasms from both of you.” he grins, gaining a bashful look from you while he keeps swirling his beer like a wine snob.

“dean, you’re such a dick.” mary elizabeth snaps, rolling her eyes, though a tiny grin pulls at the edge of her lips. 

dean takes a swig before grunting, “where the hell did you go?” 

“the dance was a little boring, don’t you think?”

“you’re selfish, you coulda told someone.”

“awe, baby, cry me a river.” 

“how is it that you’ve gotten meaner since becoming a buddhist?” dean snorts, his thumb pointing to her, casting you a look that says, you hear this shit? you smile at him with a small shrug, since no, you weren't really listening anyway, kind of zoned out in your own world.

“i dunno, deano. just lucky, i guess.” 

“i think you're doing something wrong.”

“mmm, or something very right..”

dean and mary elizabeth continue their somewhat flirty banter until sam catches sight of someone across the room, a beaming glint dancing in his eyes as he looks that way.

dean catches this, spinning around in wonder before smirking knowingly. “ah, look who’s here.”

your head follows, blinking curiously. “is that brad hays?”

“yeah, he comes here sometimes.” alice smiles after sam got up to greet the quarterback. 

you scoot a little closer to them on the beat up couch, silently noticing how dean went to go mingle right after sam left, so now it was just you three.

“but he’s a popular kid...!” you utter in surprise.

mary elizabeth’s eyebrows pinch, shooting you a sharp look. “then what are we?” 

you start to think of something to reply with, but you can't. the girls turn away, ignoring you. you swallow, fingers unintentionally pulling at the strings of your shirt. then peter unexpectedly approaches the couch with a tray in his hands, like your very own fairy godmother (just... high as a kite).

“hey, you look like you could use a brownie.” he murmurs, definitely high, bending down over the cushions to hold out the tray as you exhale in relief. 

“oh, thank you!” you smile warmly with a nod, taking one of the treats, your nerves bubbling up in your stomach. “i was so hungry at the dance. i was gonna go to kings, but i didn't really have any time—” you bashfully cut off your tense rambling, not catching the knowing smirk mary elizabeth throws to peter as you thank him.

you take a large bite, sighing at the tasty chocolate coating your tastebuds, and completely blissful about what you're actually doing.

wowwwieee..!

and well, soon enough, you’re completely baked out of your mind, sunk into a carpet. more of the party surrounds you now, practically pissing themselves with laughter as a random kid no one knows talks and talks and talks.

“have you guys felt this carpet? this carpet feels so damn good.” you murmur, stroking it leisurely.

mary elizabeth’s cackling, clearly very entertained by your antics. “hey, hey,” she interrupts, grinning wide as you look up from the carpet. “what do you think about high school?”

“high school?” you squint at her with a scoff, frowning immediately. “bullshit. the cafeteria's called the nutrition center, people wear their letter jackets even when it's 98 degrees out,” you start babbling again, contently disregarding the amused chuckles around you. “and why do they give out letters for marching band? that's not even a sport, and we all think it! right?”

you feel so many eyes on you, but they don't feel bad. people were laughing— happily! and with you, not at you. probably.

“this kid is crazy..!” mary elizabeth laughs, turning her head to face the other lingering people. 

you stare intently at the girl's punk wave haircut, expression flat. “mary elizabeth, i think you might regret that haircut when you look back at pictures..” you say simply, her face contorting into playful offense as everyone else cackles. 

“i'm really sorry.” you swallow at the reactions. “that sounded like a compliment in my head.” you murmur sheepishly, eyes flicking between each snickering person. 

“well, it’s kinda true.” alice giggles, turning to mary elizabeth, who lets out a gasp in mock horror. “shut up!” 

dean walks back into the room out of nowhere, scanning the chaotic scene in confusion, just as mary elizabeth coos, “ugh, i can’t even be mad— look at her!” 

dean glances toward you, blinking at your unusually carefree demeanor before smiling at the realization. he shakes his head in disbelief. “pete, did you get her stoned?” 

“she likes it, just look at her!” peter replies in his defense, pointing a finger toward you with a playful tee-hee. 

“god,” dean scoffs lightheartedly, still shaking his head from side to side toward you. “well how d'ya feel, space cadet?” dean hums in amusement, raising his brows.  

your nonchalant eyes reach his as you pause to think for a moment.

“...i just really want a milkshake.”

the entire room explodes with laughter, bringing a small smile to your lips. you love that people find you so funny, it’s a rare feeling.

“shit, me too.” dean grunts in agreement at the thought. he waves his hand, beckoning you to get up and follow him as he starts to turn away from the party. 

you oblige, joining him as he heads into pete’s minimalistic kitchen. “alright, sit down, stoner.” he says, nudging his head toward a stool, throwing another teasing glance your way. 

he grabs what he needs for your milkshakes while you just stare. you watch in satisfaction as he tosses a scoop of ice cream into a blender with a flourish, humming some metallica song under his breath.

“dean,” you start all of a sudden, voice a little whiny, which brings a smirk onto dean’s gorgeous lips. “you have such pretty green eyes.. the kind of pretty that deserves to make a big deal about itself.” you babble tiredly, smushing your cheek against your hand. "ya know what I mean?”

he chuckles, looking down at the opened milk carton as he pours it into the blender. “ya think so?” he hums with a small grin.

“mhm.” you hum before moving on. “what a great word. milkshake.” you murmur dreamily, still watching him with a quiet sense of joy. “it's like when you say your name over and over again in the mirror, and then after awhile, it sounds crazy..!”

dean grins wider, genuinely entertained, which actually makes you a little shy. “i’m gonna take a wild guess and say you’ve never been high before?”

“me? nonono!” you chuckle, pulling your head off your palm. “see, my best friend michael, his dad was a big drinker, so he hated all that kinda stuff. parties too.” you explain blankly, tapping your hands against the island counter as you speak. 

“and where’s michael tonight, huh? gettin lucky?” dean jokes per usual, turning with his back facing you to put the milk back in the fridge. 

“oh, he shot himself last may.” you answer in a quiet tone. and nonchalantly at that, like it was nothing surprising to mention.

dean spins around from the fridge, with a silent gulp, his mouth in a tight line. and you’re just… stoned. 

“i kind of wish he'd left a note.” you smile, but it doesn't really reach your eyes. you're about to continue, but at his awkward nod, you huff with a small sense of worry and snap your head behind you. “where’s the bathroom?” 

“uh, it’s up the stairs.” he mumbles, now unsure of how to act around you knowing this information, which you just barely take into consideration in this state. if you were boring regular you again, you'd definitely apologize like nobody's business and probably run away in embarrassment.

but instead you thank him, hopping off the stool and wandering up the carpeted stairs, zoned out. you internally groan. your limbs feel like jello, letting out a tired exhale after climbing the steps. you unsteadily tread down the hallway, where you find a large ornate mirror hanging against a corner wall. 

you pause in front of it, leaning in closer to stare at yourself. your reflection stares back, pupils blown wide as you whisper your name curiously. you repeat it again, glaring in your eyes before murmuring, “weird”, under your breath.  

you’re definitely a little lost as you turn face to three doors. oh. did dean say where exactly the porcelain throne was or...? whatever! you push open the door closest to you without another thought.

your eyes widen in surprise as you're able to make out sam winchester and brad hays inside, sitting closely on a king sized bed. oh yeah, and they're kissing. 

you swallow, eyebrows raising as they rip apart from one another quickly at the sound of the door creaking open. your lips purse, blinking twice before spinning around and walking right out. 

sam and brad stare in surprise, one definitely more afraid than the other. “who was that kid?” brad whispers tensely, keeping his eye on you as you walk down the hall, his heart racing. 

“don’t worry, she’s a friend of mine.” sam reassures him, grabbing his arm with a small brush of his thumb. “stay here.” he says before getting off the bed and following you out. 

you hear the mattress squeak as sam gets up, turning around at the footsteps behind you. “i didn’t see anything.” you say immediately. “i’m really sor-”

“you did, and it’s okay.” sam cuts in gently with a nod. he glances over his shoulder, checking to make sure no one’s looking, then sighs. 

“listen… brad doesn't want anyone to know-” he starts, but pauses as he notices your, um... not a lot of there there eyes staring back at him.

“wait, are you baked?”

“like a cake.” you reply with a giggle, your smile widening as sam huffs out a chuckle despite his anxiousness. “that's what pete said. and how you can't have three on a match because they would find us.” you continue talking with flailing hands as sam pinches his temples with a grin. “and everybody laughed, but truthfully, i don't know what's funny..!” 

“okay, listen.” sam exhales, shaking off his smile and replacing it with a serious tone. “i need you to promise that you're not going to say anything to anyone about me and brad. okay? this has to be our little secret.”

you blink at the echo of those words that are now poking at something buried in you. our little secret. yeah, you’ve heard that before. you can do that. 

“okay, sure.” you nod simply. 

“thank you.” sam sighs in gratitude, patting your shoulder. “we’ll, uh, talk later, okay?” he says sweetly before turning to go back into the bedroom. 

“looking forward to it!” you blurt out with a nod, immediately cringing at yourself. 

you hear his laugh before he walks in and shuts the door. you hum, spinning to drift back down the stairs.

the party has thinned into whispers and scattered laughter. empty cups litter the furniture everywhere, and you feel bad for the parents of the house. you're now sitting on the couch, legs curled up beside alice and mary elizabeth as you nurse your milkshake like it's life support, the straw making a small crackle every time you sip.

across the room, dean’s watching you with a furrowed brow, beer neck loose in his rough hand. his head turns as sam thumps down the stairs, motioning his little brother over to where he leans against a ping pong table. 

“hey.” sam hums with a small exhale. 

“dude.” dean whispers, taking his eyes off you to look back at sam. dean tells him what you said in the kitchen, his expression firm and a little sympathetic. “i don't think she has any friends.. like at all.” he adds. 

sam blinks at him in surprise, his lips parted. he’s about to say something in response when dean interrupts him like he always does, getting up and striding over to where you are. 

“okay, sluts, gather round!” he declares loudly, solo cup held up high. “raise your drinks.” he orders once what's left of the party comes over to the couch.

you look up from your seat, where he towers over you, his jawline absolutely divine at this angle. you’re a little paranoid as you start to look around and see everyone staring in your direction, including sam and dean. 

“what did i do?” you ask softly, your hand tightening around the milkshake. 

“nothin.” dean shrugs plainly, inhaling a breath of air. “we just, uh. you’re a um…” he clicks his fingers together as he trails off, spinning around to face sam. 

sam rolls his eyes with a small smile, stepping closer to us. “well, um... you see things and you understand.” he explains gently, his nodding reassuring and kind, just like what you'd expect from him. “you’re a wallflower.”

you swallow, drying your sweaty hands onto your skirt. you look around the room shyly at the nods and friendly faces, your heart crawling up into your throat. “i didn’t think anyone noticed me.” you mumble, voice a little shaky as you look down at the floor. 

“well, then!” someone from the back of the room exclaims. he starts to sing, “raise a glass to fre— oh yeah— the four of ussss!”

laughter bursts like fireworks, sparkling and spreading all over the room. “tomorrow there’ll be more of usssss!”

you laugh too, smiling at the familiar reference as you look up again. 

dean spins around with a knowing grin. “shut up, nerds!" before turning back to you. he crouches down a bit, like he’s about to tell you a secret. he rolls his eyes sarcastically, booping your nose as you dopily grin back. he sighs, green gaze in your face. “i guess.. welcome to the island of misfit toys.”

꒰ 𑄽𑄺 ⠀you have a new message from dolly!

erm i didnt mean to make it so long.. esp considering the first chapter was only 2.6k but oh well!! i loved writing this chap c: rah rah tags below :3

@losers-clvb @that-stanford-girlie @lisah-over18 @bewr0210 @mostlymarvelgirl @bakugotypecrashout @bitchyfestivalbouquet @anniebannanie0315 @imsiriuslyreal @crushmeeren @xothegiant @misticsilver

[ccuniculusmolestus]

day 130 of seeing the fandom say absolutely crazy shit about camilla. this is what happens when you consume media without any other lens except for this weird brand of uwu feminism where women can only be evil in a certain girlbossy way, never in a disgusting (and I mean TRULY disgusting, male-centric way), where they are only ever victims because of their “girlhood”. can you believe what I saw today? that apparently everyone in the group is a rapist because they raped her during the bacchanal! forget the fact that the entire group was high out of their minds, forget the fact that camilla is a smart enough girl to know what a bacchanal is and she’s strong enough to make her own decisions to participate (she would actually be more willing to participate in fucked up shit compared to charles!) i am just constantly disappointed and baffled by how they dumb her down in an attempt to make her seem more passive? pretending she’s above using her charm to manipulate the guys around her? apparently even bunny has done her wrong sexually because he didn’t “protect” her from charles’ incestous advances. why would he have?! it was consensual?????????? i am genuinely lost as to how the fandom has lost the plot with this one woman character. they keep claiming we’ll never know camilla because of richard. YOU ARE RICHARD! you are obsessed with victimizing her and then sexualizing this victimization! once I even saw someone claim JULIAN had victimized camilla?! they are obsessed with this narrative that every male who ever had contact with camilla raped her or sexually abused her and I’m beginning to think it’s because they can’t think of a fem character in any other way. she just HAS to be sexual or sexualized or a victim because she’s an uwu girl. no decision she takes is ever her own and no crime she commits is ever malicious because she’s ‘just a girl’ (and I hate this awful trend too). I’m sending this to you on anon because you’re the only one who won’t call me a misogynist rape apologizing male centrist (something I’ve been called before by this wonderful community for suggesting camilla was not the ‘ultimate’ victim. she is a victim don’t get me wrong but only of charles and ONLY after he’s blackout drunk.) anyway. I like your blog. I wish I’d found it before.

WHAT

aww thanku for the compliment

HOLD ON A MINUTE THOUGH. (cracks knuckles)

WHATTTT I AM SO GAD I AHVENT SEEN THIS THOERY BECUA E WHAT DO YOU MEAAAN WHAT DO YOU EMAN THEYRE ALL RAPOST!?!?!?!?!

OK wait let me chill Out for a sec and think abt thsi. Saur My brainneeds to section things so I'll just make a list ok

GANG SA? i,m assumign theyre going with the SA thing bcs she *was a deer* and they all remembered chasing one...? THO idk how that transglates into her being SA'd 🗿💔💔 i guess to each their own interpreatation.............Personally i think its so easy to get wrapped up in these weird ahh headcanons if u don't rlly gaf about the classical contextt behidn the story...? Let me begin with the deer: UNRELATED TO BACCHUS -> Deer are sacred to Artemis and as we all know she is aka the huntress. Deer, hunt.......Deer, huntress.....possible allusion to the Goddess? PERHAPS. U kno...I have a crazy theory abt purrhaps this being a sign that they were led to 'hunt' the farmer. That's crazy. Anyway. RELATED TO BACCHUS -> sauuurrr wild animals lowkey depict wilderness and dreedom and ecstasy for Bacchus and his folowers. The deer is not Dionysus' animal tho 💔 at least not from what i rember like its a panther or a tiger lowkey. HOWWWWWEVER DEER SKIN IS RELATED TO HIS FOLLOWERS!!!!!!!!!! DO YOU KNOW ABOUT "NEBRIS"? It meansa deer/fawn skin! And Bacchus' female followrs the maeneads use to wear this during the rituals! Also Bacchic rituals dont even sacrific deer 😭😭 they sacrifc liek goats i thin. It was eihter goats or rams but not deer. Also SA is literally never a part of Bacchic myths ew. Prersonally im my opinoin Donna used this imagery for classical reasons and not to depict fucking gan g rape. Bruh. Within a Bacchic fraework this probs js means she felt wild and animalistic in the ritual. ORRR LICHERALLY that she simply entered a trance-like state?? There is no textual or even contectual evidence that she was SAd.

CONSENSUAL INCEsT? The incest was consensual and i belueve this strongly. i think poeple just put it all on charles because he is eazy to overlook and hate bcs of his abuse at the end but i d dont think thats a fair analyss of anythng......Look. Incesy themes are cosndiered gothic or whatevr and Donna Tartt mother of literature wrote evrything very precisely. WHy I dont believe the incest wasone sided is because Donna shows us a balance nd equalty b/w the sibs. - POWER IMBALANCE? Firsty they are literally twins so u take that age gap power imbalance away ok - CAMILLAS AGENCY? Secondy Ccamillas masculinity puts her on a somewhat equal footing WHEN IT COMES TO CHARLES (to Charles! Other men obv wouldnt see it this way) i wih i coudl explain it better but they are mirror images of one other.... Camillas masculinty is subtle and also a counterpoint to the vulnerable femininity people try to project onto her..She actualy isnt portrayed as meek or helpless by Donna EVEN in Richads's observation! She's emotionally controlled and calculated, ESPCIALLYYYYYY compared to her fuckass brother who goes off the deep end at evey little thgn. Camilla is not someone who doesn’t know how to say NO. She's not someon who bends over backwards to please ANY man around her please gie let her have some agency .... nd we also kno Camilla is more capable of cold and brutal decisions when it comes down 2 it….I am not saying this makes it impssible for her to be a victim to him OFC but I just dont see her as having 0 say in what she and Charles do…….. - DONNA TARTT'S DEPICTION OF MORAL COLLAPSE Literally its just to show moral collpase. LMFAO. Donna wanted to shwo moral collapse and consensual incest is RIGHT UP THERE with MURDER! - NARRATUVE SILENCE IS FOR AMBIGUITYYYYY....NAWWTTT VICTIMHOOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!! ALOT of pople say ohhh we didnt hear Camilla say shit she was such a victim. WHAT. Miss Donna's entire NOVEL is abotu ambiguity girlfriend we actually dont hear a lot of them say anything except Miss Richard! And she's a liar! - Black and white Charles? many let Charles’s eventual abusiveness color their entire view of the relationship, instead of recognizing that his behaviour at the end is not the behavior he has normally BUT a literal breakdown in response to losing emotional access to her. Sheleaves his ass when he starts drinking anf this drinking makes him abusiev!!! HE LITERALLY BECAME AN ALCHOLOHIC AND YALL TALKNBG ABT "HE WAS ALWAYS LIKE THSI" LIKE WHaT????? - Projection of disgust obvi incest is fucking yuck because it is disturbing but disturbing doesnt mean nonconsensual. Morally wrong? Yes, but that doesnt automatically imply abuse.

Julian/Bnuy OH OH IVE SEEN THE JULIAN ONE! IDK WHAT IT MEANS. WHAT DID BRO DO (sorry nothing to addhere from my prepsective bcs i literally dont know what could have happened???) Maybe he asked her to read that poem once and she lowk has social anxity so he basically did a war crime (I am srs abt this tho profs who make u read shit out loud when they know u dont feel the vibe shoud be publicy executed kys) DONT EVEN GET ME FUCKING STARTED ON BUNNY??? TF HE DO??? Yes he sees two consenting adutls doing incest and freaks out and clams up abt it until they commit a fucking murde r bcs he couldnt snitch on them b4 bcs like it would mess up their whole group and honestly what tf would u do if u discovered two ppl in ur friend grp were investig...? LOL/ LEAVE HIM ALONE HE GETS ENOUGH SHIT AS IT IS

ARE YOU SEXIST MISOGYNIST EVIL BATSARD Im glad u aseked. Answer is:

No

and llike, dont worry gurl, I been called that once too for uhh...for analyzing bnnuy's relaitosnhip with marion..........anything gets u titled anything over here its fine.

I have acutally been meaning to discuss the issue with Camilla and Charles' depiction in this fandom but I was lowkey scared so....thanku for this ask anon! I get your frustration!

Ur totally right that some takes reduce Camilla to a passive object and Charles to a 1 dimensional predator. In a literary space these r lowkey ahistorical (bcs they dont take gothic + classical tropes into consid), anti-literary (they assume everything is a modern social allegory), and Im ngl theyre often condescending toward Camilla, who I admit is literally one of the most emotionally intelligent characters in the book

N I do belive that theories and headcanosn are, obvi, a to eahc their own kinda vibe. But if u take a theory that has no contextual evidence or smthn and start treatin it like canon u r bound to confuse and offend other readers maybe UBUT ALSO you will start getting offended when other readers dont take ur takes srsly. Bcs stuff like this is so charged (rape, incestual SA) that ppl just shut down and have visceral reactions (which is understabdale and normal). so i mean someone who believes in these theories might get mad at u for NOT believing in them or treating them as canon. At the end of the day bro we all jus gotta chill and ponder

[with-my-calamitous-love]

FILIPINO READER HCS!

bnha various x reader

general fluff headcanons, some tagalog! i am filo myself so i tried to make this as accurate and appreciative as possible, a few mentions of filipino toxicity and generational trauma

a/n: i’m SOOOOO EXCITED for this one 😭😭 currently packing for bulacan right now to visit my mom <33

a/n: yes i am distracting myself with the new chapter by writing about some light headcanons

IZUKU MIDORIYA

- TEACH HIM HOW TO MANO!! he definitely saw ur younger cousins do it at a party and then he tried doing it and accidentally kissed ur grandmas hand but he’s more than happy to learn for you <3

- is such a nerd when it comes to learning about your culture and language,, as a young hero he knows how important it is to learn basics from other languages so he can help everyone! but it becomes especially important when its with you

- his accent is terrible at first 😭 BUT HE LEARNSS

- will call you mahal <3

- one time he randomly facetimes you and just stutters may gusto ako sa iyo

- AND IT MAKES YOU SO HAPPYYY

- loves the food your titas and lola make SO much, i can see him really liking pork adobo or lumpia

- your titas always pack him SO MUCH extra food whenever he’s leaving your house and baby boy is so grateful he doesn’t even know how to react 😭

- is absolutely shocked with all the gatherings you have. like theres at least 3 groups of relatives in the house, a colossal amount of delicious food and a whole classroom of kids running around and screaming

- let him play with the kids at the party! he’s great with little cousins and it warms your heart when they call him kuya izu

- overall, loves you for who even more for your roots. just wait till the you guys have the huge filipino wedding

KATSUKI BAKUGOU

- i’m gonna be honest… he’s kind of an ass at first 😭

- like, he doesn’t really understand a lot of the things that are normal to you. but its important to you, and thats enough for him to wanna learn

- ask him to pronounce pasko, paksiw or nakakapagpabagabag but he WILL rage when you laugh at his accent ITS SO FUNNY THO

- high key judges you for running on filipino time.. 5 minutes late to everything but BRIGHT AND EARLY for anything airport related

- you have so many relatives he has to learn the names for, sometimes you can’t even remember them all- but he does and treats them with the utmost respect <3

- bakugou’s a good cook but he only gets better after you teach him the sacred secrets… and when i say the finger technique GET YOUR DIRTY MINDS OUTTA HERE

- basically its a way to measure rice perfectly. he sees you doing it and thinks ur absolutely insane for just sticking ur finger inside the rice pot, absolutely LASER focused, but after you explain he does it too

- the rice comes out perfect <3

- also loves the food your titas and lolas make, but he likes yours the most. i can see him really liking sisig because of the spice

- much like midoriya, he definitely tries to learn some of your language, but unlike the other he doesn’t tell you that

- one day he’ll just remind you that he loves you, mahal na mahal kita <3 and ur just there FLABBERGASTED.

SHOUTO TODOROKI

- i strongly hc shouto knows a few languages already, so he’s MORE than willing to learn yours

- already knows mano, and what to call your relatives

- his biggest goal is to be able to call your dad tito and be close with him, and it makes you *so* happy

- but he also really understands filipino toxicity, how you can be ridiculed for the smallest things, constant shamed for just existing.. he’s been there </3

- he sees the way your relatives, mostly the men, will push down their feelings and think that they’re so strong! when really they’re just continuing the same cycles of generational trauma and abuse

- so he’s so quick to validate your feelings, especially when it comes to family issues, like i said he’s been there too ♥️

- he definitely wasn’t used to not eating with chopsticks, but after seeing its a norm for your family and culture he’s very appreciative of it <3

- listen… i know you have at least one manny pacquiao shirt… he has no idea who tf that is at first but he does a lot of googling for you 😭

- HELPS IN THE KITCHEN! winning the approval or your titos and titas, lolo’s and lolas is SO important to him

- i can see him being really into pancit bihon, especially after knowing the significance it has on birthdays and other holidays after learning it grants you longer life he makes the noodles as LONGG as possible so u can stay with him <3

- GET HIM TO DO KARAOKE AT PARTIES oh god forgive his pronunciation 😭 kunin lang ang mga baterya sa kanyang mic

- overall, loves you so so much and loves every part about you <3

- for ppl who responded to my post a while back! sorry if you wanted bsd i’ll write that version too lol 😭 MAHAL KO KAYO <3

@raccoonkaz @ladylapize @strayruway @yumiruhisu @hungergameswho

[kanmom51]

Bringing back Only then

I've been missing Jikook so very much and watching song edits, cause why not, right?

And Only then, that is one that is on repeat for me.

JK's cover of this song is so damn good.

And I'm sitting there eating my breakfast (tmi of the day?) and watching the edit and reading the lyrics again and it just clicks in my brain.

Obviously those lyrics and JK's choice to cover the song and his unbelievably emotional singing that just draws you in is not something new. This song meant something to him, way back in 2018. Let's not forget that he released his cover for White day 2018, surprise surprise. Yeah, White day. We know what he was doing on White day 2023...

March 2018, following Jikook's Tokyo trip. March 2018, when members were rethinking if, what, where and how to continue as BTS, as artists.

This one wasn't written by him, but it sure meant A LOT to him!!!

Those lyrics.

They meant everything back then in 2018.

But now. In 2024. Looking back at the two of them, and even more so at the last 3 years, these words, they hit me like a freight train.

The lyrics.

Their past.

Their present.

Their future.

The way to love me isn’t hard Just hold me tight like you are now

We don’t know what will happen to us later But I like that nothing’s decided

Who cares what others say? We can’t live without each other, so what’s the problem? We can be more in love together

I can't...

These lines hit even harder now that we know what they went through in 2023 (well, part of what they went through, but we did see on live just how affected JK was), and to what lengths they went to not be separated during their military service.

But this isn't the end of it.

Because the next lines repeat that sentiment.

If you start to like someone else If I get used to not being with you When that time comes, when it’s that time Only then we can break up

And obviously, that ain't happening any time soon.

Nope, not happening...

Not at all.

Oh, and back to this again...

This song, it's lyrics, they just hit so hard.

The way to love you isn’t hard If I smile once more and care for you more

Clip credit to @ nuri  நூரி

The way we love isn’t hard If we look at each other like it’s the first time every time

Whether you want it or not, I’m going to hold onto you When I get too tired that I can’t even walk When that time comes, when it’s that time Only then we can break up Only then we can break up

Now I am definitley ugly crying. Bawling my eyes out.

I miss them so much.

😭😭

[anonmousegosqueak]

TIS THE DAY OF TOMFOOLERY.

Take 141 (+friends and enemies) doing stuff

Btw I'ma be totally honest- I have no idea if the non-americans actually do April fools day. And y'know what? I don't really care. I'm already turning sas members into the TwinkForce141, lemme live in my little imaginary world where they do. I'm sleepy and have been up since... A long time yesterday. I get this.

Price

Old man? More like perfect target >;3 The Sargent's have a field day just messing with him, hiding his hats, replacing his cigars, ect. Do they have to suffer the consequences afterwards? I mean obviously. Is it worth it? 100%

Except this year Price has got a little something up his sleeve~

Watch out boys, he's out for revenge.

Ghost

We all know he's the dad-joke king (I saw a really cute hc, I can't remember where it came from. But basically, Si gets his dumb jokes from candy and stuff) but- surprisingly enough he's not a prankster. At least not in my mind, I'm sure some of y'all disagree.

I think he's much more on the receiving end, especially by a shithead Scotsman that he regrets falling for (not like it was his choice to become hopelessly in love with the idiot).

Except this year, he's totally helping Price.

Soap

PRANKER.

Poor Ghost, mans has to sleep with one eye open. He's not sneaky about it either, unless he's working with someone else, you'll *know* one Johnny MacTavish is behind the prank. Just has that flavor, yk?

Gaz

Sneaky baby >:)

I think I stole this from someone (I'll add credits if I remember) but you never suspect Kyle. The amount of times Soap has been blamed for something Gaz has done? He doesn't prank often, but when he does he gets away with it and Soap is a little angrier (still loves him tho)

Roach

Another sneaky baby

Whereas Gaz has pretty privilege, Roach is the favorite child. He's less subtle and Soap tends to get blamed a bit less, but he just kinda... Gets away with it? Runs laps whereas Soap would be on cleaning duty for a month.

Also tends to team up with Gaz for the ultimate prank, or will team up with both Soap and Gaz for the sargent disaster™

Alejandro

Roldolfo

This is kinda where I fall off, the rest of these (except for a random white man, idk who invited him) are a bit less prank-y

But I think Alejandro does enjoy a good first of April.

His pranks are a lot more sweet though, it's almost cute. He'll "prank" the Vaqueros by hiding candy in their gear and stuff. Firm believer in "the best prank is one that everyone likes". I think he also had done a "no I won't get you ___" while actively getting it, but that's only for Rudy.

Doesn't. It's just not really his style. He does watch Ale though, enjoys his cute little giggles as he sneaks a new plush into their bed. Much more likely to make sure the other Vaqueros don't get carried away and kill each other.

König

Horangi

Sweet boy. So sweet and so clueless...

Literally falls for *everything*. I think that's actually how Horangi and him made it official:

Horangi: "hey baby, wanna be my boyfriend? ;)”

König: "!!! Maus, I didn't know you felt the same way!" *Heads off to go plain their wedding*

Horangi: "wait-"

Horangi was gonna say 'no homo', now he's five years in a loving relationship. König will never know, he's just happy his lovely tiger asked first.

Chaotic little prankster, get Kö to scoop him up to make sure he doesn't blow the entire base up. Yet somehow, *somehow* there is only one person he cannot prank. Everyone else lives in fear that a small shouty Korean man will break into their house and replace everything with something else (toothpaste Oreos, hair dye shampoo, ect.), except for a certain tall man who somehow always benefits... He forever will wonder what powers that man holds, all while making everyone else's lives a living hell.

Graves (and shadow-co)

Yup-yup! He gets put at the bottom because he's stinky and I hate him >:( that, and I want him away from my gay Mexican cowboys.

You cannot look at his dynamic with the shadows and tell me April isn't a dangerous month. I think they all extend it too, like all of April is like the 1st. Nothing on the field obvs, but back at base? You better sleep with one eye open fucker, that or you'll be regretting everything that led you to this moment. Dw tho, Graves is fair game and tends to get a bit ganged up on when it comes to pranks >:3

[shewritesinblackink]

A revolution of hearts - Haymitch Abernathy fanfic part 2

Haymitch x f!reader

previous part

masterlist

warning: this part comes with a mention of attempted sa, proceed at your own risks, and take care if you do read that part. Nothing graphic tho.

The day had started on the wrong side, just like the way you went to bed the night prior. Your head was pounding, from crying all night and from drinking too much. Your throat felt dry and sharp, like you swallowed shards of glass in your sleep.

Reluctantly you drag your legs from under the covers, the floor too cool under your already freezing feet. You get in the shower, hoping the scalding hot water might wash away the remnant of the night, the taste of alcohol and the sting of tears.

It doesn’t. Your skin still red from the too hot water, clothes picked up randomly from the drawers you make your way to the breakfast table. Silently you sit down around the mahogany table, and wait a few seconds for your tea to infuse to colour the water in the mug.

Effie and Haymitch are already seated, eating toast and eggs and whatever else the table is filled with. it makes you sick, the opulence of the Capitol. The opulence of the people, their distaste for the other districts.

You just sit there, your hands curled around the teacup. It’s too hot, it hurts your skin but you don’t move, you let the pain ground you. It’s a minor pain really, you had worse, but in that moment it’s all you need to take your mind off of the real world and disappear far away.

Haymitch clears his throat, making Effie look up from whatever she was reading on her tablet. She eyes him, the you and him again. She exhales loudly and stands up, clearly reading the tension in the room and deciding it is none of her business. The room fell silent after her departure, her footsteps light on the marble floor.

Haymitch has his eyes on you, unmoving, unwavering. You don’t notice, too far gone in your daydream. Trying to escape the dull fate awaiting you in the real world, shackled to the Capitol like a puppet on a string.

He drops his coffee mug– undoubtedly filled with more than just coffee– loudly on the table, tearing your attention away from the clouds.

You turn your head slowly toward him, your eyes tired, slightly closed like you’re squinting at the too bright light in the room. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart,” he says, his tone half-sarcastic, half-concerned. He doesn’t really know why he cares even in the slightest, but he does.

You don’t answer, not immediately, your eyes scanning his face like he is some ancient statue in a museum you have to keep quiet around or else he’ll curse you forever. He swat a wild strand of hair from his face with his hand.

You inhale sharply, averting your gaze. You are not ready for this conversation.

And yet, Haymitch doesn't seem to want to back down either.

The urge to flip him off and storm out of the room corsses your mind, but apparently so does he.

“You can’t run away forever, sweetheart. We’re stuck on that train and here in this Capitol’s building for the rest of our miserable lives,” He almost spit the words out, then he takes a long gulp of his more-than-just-coffee.

“Might as well cooperate with your only ally here.”

You scoff, not loudly but enough for him to hear it. He crosses his arms over his chest and lean back in his chair. Asking again.

“What’s wrong, c’mon.”

You swallow hard, not looking at him.

“Our second tribute died yesterday. Skull crushed by a Career.”

You risk a glance at him, from the corner of your eye. He doesn’t flinch at the news, doesn’t look any more sad than he usually does. It stunts you, how easy he take the news. But then again you remind yourself he has been playing this mentor game for far longer than you.

You fear that you might become like him one day. Cold hearted, no more tears to cry. Only alcohol and pathetic jabs of sarcasm thrown around like a defense mechanism.

You don’t blame him, though. You understand. You survived the games too, and you still don’t know how to keep going on with the weight and the blood of the people you killed to make it out alive.

Sometimes when you wake up from a nightmare, you can see it, faintly painting your hands in a bright shiny red colour. It makes you want to scream.

“What else.” He simply ask.

Your gaze lands on the table once more. Your hands fidgeting with your cuticles and one of your legs starts to bounce from nerves. You think to yourself that you’re such a pathetic liar.

“It’s not important. What matters is that we lost tributes. Again.”

That last word is sharper, colder and slightly louder. You didn’t intend to, or maybe you did.

It doesn’t startle him. As if he was waiting for you to start yelling from the moment you walked into the room.

“Snow…” The words catch in your throat, dry like sandpaper.

A crease forms on Haymitch’s brow.  He doesn’t say anything, allowing you to continue at your pace.

“He… We talked yesterday.” You swallow hard again.

“You saw President Snow yesterday? When? Why?” The questions leaving his mouth faster than he intends to. 

You still don’t look at him. But Haymitch can feel it. The sentence, the words that you will say next. He heard them too once before. He remembers how it had made his blood boil from frustration and anger. 

“I have to meet some rich patrons soon.”

The sentence is pretty, the words nice and soft coming from you. But you can both taste the bitterness of what linger behind this revelation.

The sentence feels petty now. Like you shouldn’t have said it at all. Like the sky might fall on your head any moment now that it’s out in the open. 

You don’t know what to expect from Haymitch. It’s not like he cared about your safety when you first embarked on this train. And despite him giving you a fighting chance by finding you sponsors in the arena, it didn’t change the fact he let you down as soon as you came back to the Tributes center. 

Like he was ashamed of himself, ashamed of keeping you alive to witness the rest of your life in shiny Capitol’s shackles.

He ignored you for a year after you won the game. So you learnt the Capitol’s rules by yourself, Effie helped you as best she could. But the surviving part? That was Haymitch’s specialty.

He inhales, long and sharp. You see his hands curling around his mug, his knuckles becoming white. Maybe because he knows what I just announced really means.

“When?”

The question feels as sharp as your own words, but his tone is quiet, almost gentle. You can still hear an edge to his voice, like he is holding himself back. A part of you is not sure what that means.

“Last night. Tonight again.”

The answer hangs in the air like a bomb ready to explode at any given moment. You half expect him to storm out of the room or start yelling at you for speaking to Snow and meeting the Capitol’s most powerful people on your own. They’re dangerous people. But he does neither.

He huffs, slump even more in his chair and drinks his coffee like it’s definitely not coffee. A few seconds pass by in silence before he turns his head toward you.

You can’t look at him. You don’t want to look at him.

He can see it on your face, the way your brow kneet together in a pathetic attempt at keeping the tears behind your eyes. He only hopes nothing too bad happened. Because he knows there is no defying Snow. It’s a game you are certain to lose.

He knows he doesn’t really need to ask you, but does it anyway because he needs to hear it. He needs to hear you say it.

“Did anything happen?”

You bite your lower lip, a sob building up in your throat and Haymitch can feel it. But you shake your head no. You let it drop forward, your hair hiding your face like a curtain. Like it might shield you from whatever is out there.

Your hands are pressed together on the table, sticky from nervousness and anxiety.

“They tried…” The words dead in your mouth, tasting like ashes. “They tried to lead me to a room after the dinner.”

You pause as if to allow the words to evaporate in the air before continuing, like they might circle around you and strangle you if you say too much too fast.

“I didn’t drink from the cups they kept passing me.” Haymitch can hear you swallowing. He can’t, his throat is too dry to choke out a single word anyway.

“I played their game, mingled, told them what they wanted to hear, smiled and laughed at their deranged humour. I told them soon. I kept smiling and then I left.” A sob escapes your throat.

[ciels-best-fit]

The people have asked so here are my thoughts of the tournament!! Please enjoy~ 💫

Why a fashion tournament?

Ok so confession time: i actually had the fashion tournament idea for... someone else (ˉ▽ˉ；)........(ㆆxㆆ) hehe

But I like Ciel just as much!! o(≧口≦)o And I always planned to do one for him eventually. In the end, I decided to do his first, because I thought it would be more fun for the fandom. And I didn't want to wait until the manga starts again and worry about new outfits. Turns out my foresight was spot on~ (´∀｀；)

Making the tournament

So as you all can guess, this is my first tournament I've put together! There were a few bumps along the way, but it was fun ride the whole time! I really struggled with the banners at the start. I'm haunted by that first one, it was sooo bad (>ლ). I'm glad I've gotten better at designing them now tho:

I really liked this one I did for the submission form.

But ig my promoting didn't reallly work? (-＿-)... I think at the most, only two people submitted to our form. But I'm really grateful towards them! If it weren't for those submissions I probably would have given up, so everyone say thank you!🎉🎉

Second confession! I know literally nothing about fashion ( ꩜///꩜;)���. So imagine how much of a struggle it was writing up all the propaganda. Technically, I could have left it alone... but because of the few submissions we received did get propaganda, I felt bad to erase them so I... wrote propaganda for the rest of the 132 outfits... yeah... 🙃

That's also the reason why I didn't hide the propaganda under a read-more link because I wanted yall to read it. I didn't waste nights hunched over my laptop to be ignored!! (also why this isn't under a read more hehe)

Finding all those images were quite hard as well! Most of these outfits I remembered, but locating them? And finding good resolutions? (´□`; 三 ;´□`). I also had to reformat them to fit side by side on the post, which took a lot of editing day-by-day (I sure was glad when we hit final bracket....)

But enough about me, lets talk about the tournament!!

Tournament polls

I had so much fun making them. The outfits were assorted randomly, but I did make some pairings for fun (lion vs cat, turkey vs rooster).

Looking at the final competiors of the brackets, it seems the fandom really likes Ciel's fanciful, gothic outfits, that reflect Kuro's dark regal nature. I hoped more of the fun outfits would win... I'm suprised though, I thought the manga outfits would be more popular, like Ciel's Circus Costume, just based of iconicness, but between the artbooks and the celebration illustrations there was strong competition all around.

However, it was nice to see the fandom vote for outfits Ciel shone in, rather than outfits he hated or felt uncomfortable wearing (ie. the emerald witch dress vs the pink dress). Like attitude is essential in fashion! Compared to outfits where Ciel feels... out of touch or just posing, ones where he shows off his spirit really speaks to us.

⚠️skip ahead if opinions scare you1!!⚠️

I HATED THIS OUTFIT. And its so ridiculous, I developed a special hatred for this outfit that has nothing to do with it's design. I was tasked to find an image of almost every outfit in this tournament and this is the ONLY ONE I could not a higher resolution of. It drives me nuts! I can't stand it winning with all those blurry details! It just reminds me of my failure!!

Now I can totally see why it's so popular. It shows how far Yana has come with her art. Sorry for being mean against everyone's second favorite outfit (~_~;) Technically, it did win best outfit based off the polls! (special illustrations non-withstanding) And I get why!

But... it's just not to my taste. The color scheme is dull, there isn't really a theme, it's just a bunch of emblems placed all over. The details are amazing, but again, it's sooo blurry idc. Great outfit, but it doesn't really scream Ciel's best fit to me, y'know. Like where's his personality? I just... 💤

Same note why I didn't care about the figurine illustration. BOH-ring, ayfkhdsfasdf it looks like every outfit he ever wore combined, in a bad way.

And Kuro's Back Baby isn't even an outfit? You barely see anything?? How did it get that far... (guess we're that happy about his comeback lol).

Ok ok that's enough hating, but I'm going to make a separate post of my favorite outfits so yall can roast me there haha~

Conclusion

I was a little worried about doing this tournament, I mean, I've seen some poll tournaments go bad like BAD bad. But the atmosphere was surpisingly nice? I really liked reading everyone's analysis and comments, and how much they loved each outfit. So grateful to do this with everyone, hope to see you next time as well! ( ´∀`)/~~

I have future plans for this blog, which I'll discuss in a separate post, so stay tuned!